Triangles . . .

This morning marked my daughter's last morning at the apartment. The little place was often cozy, sometimes too small, occasionally perfect, and - frankly - filled with fun and moments that I'll probably always appreciate.

One of my FAVORITE things about the "magic" we tried to build in to the place was two triangles where the sidewalks from my backdoor and the neighboring unit's backdoor met the driveway. Each had a random crack that made triangles at the meeting point (mason work and Wichita heat and cold extremes make awkward bed-fellows).

I convinced my daughter the day we moved in that if you stepped on the triangles you WOULD make the garage door go up or down. And for 18 months, without fail, I've made her believe that to be true by secretly pressing the button on my key-chain garage door opener as she stepped on the triangles.

There have been times I've had to wrestle groceries and hot tea to get to my keys as she ran to the triangle. Come sleet, snow, heat, rain, and hail - I hit that button. I once just blindly hit my own leg as hard as I could and hoped to depress the right button. Some days I would wait inside and watch her walk, gingerly, to the triangle thinking I was otherwise occupied. She's double tapped and I've had to keep up. There were even a few times where I needed to make up excuses for why I didn't hit the button at the right time. Little things like pine needles on the triangle effecting the sensor or the shoes (little girl "high" heels) she was wearing making her too light to push it down properly.

No matter what crap I had to do or come up with on the fly - that garage door went up or down - as promised. I'm not a great dad. I'm not actually a magician. I'm not even all that crafty or creative. Yet - every now and again - I can make magic happen for my kid and that gives me hope.