So my daughter accompanies me to take the gargabe out yesterday. We walk the can out to the end of the drive, and, as is our practice we race back.
As we’re racing, my daughter is winning. She’s five steps ahead of me. She always wins the races against Daddy.
I’m panting and yelling “She’s too fast, I can’t beat her!”
Suddenly she says “Yes you can, Daddy. I’ll slow down so you can win” and she does.
I win and my daughter congratulates me.
This creates an interesting conundrum since I’ve always let my daughter win, she has decided to let me win.
Neither of us is actually racing anymore.
Frankly, I really don’t need the victory, but the whole thing kind of floored me the more I thought about it. I’ve known for a long time with great pride and a little fear and concern that my daughter is… nice.
I can’t remember ever, in my whole life doing something like that.
Those times when I do do nice things, I usually end up getting something out of it, or else I’m doing it because I think I should, or it conforms with the person I pretend I am.
My daughter does these decent things all the time, and for no real reason.
