End of the Year Party

In the chaos of Squealer’s end of the year kindergarten party, Bruce caught my eye. His oversized build and beefy hands indicated a comfort level more accustomed to working outside rather than in. I joined him on the periphery of activity as one of the few fathers there for the school day party. Kadie walked up and introduced herself. She asked who he was married to and he mumbled a self-conscious reply that he wasn’t married.

We were saved from an uncomfortable silence by the announcement that the kids were going to scrap book some pictures that the teacher had taken throughout the year. The parents huddled around large pieces of construction paper and began putting titles, photographs, and stencils in their proper places on the paper. Since I had the camera (and Kadie has the artistic skills) I stood back and observed. My eyes and attention returned to Bruce.

Bruce was looking over his daughter’s shoulder and working on getting the “Kindergarten 2008-2009” title centered in the middle of the page. He then carefully stretched four strips of tape over each corner and said “Ok, now, umm…let’s get some of the pictures in place” he said hesitantly. As the only father at the table of moms, he looked clearly out of his element.

“That’s not right!”


My gaze shifted to a large, older woman standing next to Bruce. She was apparently a grandmother who was forced into the background as her daughter helped her grand-daughter. She was also the one who had made the beautiful end of the year cake for the class and obviously had an artistic gift. I’m unsure whether she was talking to Bruce’s daughter or to Bruce himself.

“You see, that’s double sticky tape. You don’t put it on the corners of the paper!”
Bruce looked confused. “But you have to tape the title in the middle of the page” he said, uncertainly.


“Here, let me show you” she said as she carefully peeled the tape off the paper. She then folded the tape back on itself and placed the tape behind the title so that the tape didn’t show at all. “There, that’s right, don’t you like that better?” Bruce’s daughter nodded hesitantly.
The large older woman then said (to herself as much as to anyone else) “Now, let’s see what’s next.”

Over the next half hour, Bruce stood off to the side while this woman worked on his daughter’s page. As they created an impressive work of scrap book art, Bruce was pushed closer to the periphery. He seemed tortured the whole time. His body language indicated that he desperately wanted to work with his daughter on the project, but he realized that the work would be much more beautiful if he continued to allow the woman to help.

My heart ached as I watched all this. Most single parents I know and think about are single women raising kids on their own. But few things can be tougher emotionally than for a single father to raise a daughter on his own. The emotional distance is so vast.

After the party I shook Bruce’s hand and told him that I hoped our kids were in the same class again next year. I’d love to get to know him better.