This happened just now, and it made me think about how insanely blessed I am, and I thought it deserved to be shared.
So for those of you who don’t know, my parents divorced when I was very young (around five years old). Although they are both remarried now, and I have two unbelievably lovely stepparents, there was a time in my life where I was going back in forth between two apartments, both of which held a single parent.
Now I have one sister and one brother, so this presented problems on both sides of the spectrum. The problems that are relevant to this story, however, are the problems that my dad faced raising two girls on his own. He had to learn the lefts and rights of little girl hair styles, little girl clothes, little girl nail polish, etc. I will always hold my dad in the highest esteem for this. I count it among his highest accomplishments. Especially because he knew how to put our hair up in those complicated, double-ball, ponytail holders from the 90s. You know, these. And the man was good at it. Way to go, Dad.
Anyways, back to the present. My sister has some friends over, and they were all painting their nails and gossiping and figuring out how they’re going to do their makeup for tomorrow’s band banquet. I was up there with them, just listening in and painting my nails, blah blah blah. It was nice to have a girl’s night with those beautiful girls.
So it starts getting late, so I finish up with the top coat on my nails and head downstairs to get ready for bed. This proves to be a difficult process, because my nails are wet and I’m trying to brush my teeth and take out my contacts and put on my pajamas… It’s not pretty. I’d had a headache forming all night (maybe from the acetone smell, maybe the screaming children, who knows), and it started getting really bad as I climbed into bed. So I went into the kitchen and took some ibuprofen, and then reached up to take my hair out of its ponytail to relieve some pressure.
Remember those wet nails?
For the life of me, I can’t get my hair out of my ponytail holder unless I want to risk ruining my nails, and I do NOT handle that very well. So I climb the stairs and knock on my parents’ door, expecting to ask my stepmom to give me a hand. When I open the door, it’s just my dad on the bed, so I ask him to help me out. He smiles and stands, and begins to very gently work the elastic out of my messy bun. A few seconds later, he presents the holder to me and kisses my head.
My head immediately floods with the memories of the day when I was 14 years younger and completely dependent on my dad to do my hair. It was a very heart-warming moment that was much needed by this newly-returned and very exhausted college kid.
Many people would say that I come from a “broken” home, and I can see why. My parents got divorced. That’s a big rip in a family. However, I couldn’t come from a more loving and complete home. I have been blessed by four amazing parents and more siblings that I can count. And I am so very thankful for that.