Jacob’s in a stage wherein, if Daddy’s around, Daddy must do everything. Mommy is only helpful when she’s the only option. (To be fair, when she is, there is plenty of hugs and playtime.) Clearly, Jacob loves and admires his dad. I get it; I mean, I love and admire him, too. He’s smart, fun, thoughtful, loving . . . the list goes on.
In Jacob’s mind, though, the list takes a very different tack.
For Halloween, Jacob was Superman. He has no way of really knowing who Superman is, nor do I believe he has a true understanding of Halloween. What matters is that last Wednesday morning, Mommy suggested wearing a cape all day. As you can imagine, there was absolutely no argument.
During the course of the day, Jacob got a sticker—a Superman sticker, to be exact. We put it on his knee, so he could see it when he was sitting in the stroller. I thought I’d said “Superman” enough times that day that I’d get the anticipated answer when I asked who was on the sticker. The fact that his clothes matched Jacob’s should have helped. Yet, as happens so often with one’s expectations of a toddler, I was proven wrong.
Me: Hey Jacob, who’s on that sticker?
Me: Daddy? Are you sure? Are you sure it’s not Superman?
John’s hair is kind of long right now, so the curl of his hair does look similar to Clark Kent’s. A day or so later I learned the comparison went much deeper than physical attributes.
I’d told Jacob that the subway was broken, which was why it took Daddy so long (two and a half hours) to get home from Manhattan on Wednesday. When he worked from the Brooklyn office the other days that week and had a much, much shorter commute, I happily told Jacob that he was going to get more Daddy time in the evening. He was the one who told me why:
“Subway broken. Daddy fixed it.”
I told him yes, the subway had been fixed, but I wasn’t sure Daddy was the one to have done it. But Jacob was certain.
“Daddy fixed it.”
Whatever you say, little man. Whatever you say.