My daughter went to her first ever dance this past weekend. It was a middle school dance.
She’s 12 years old. When she was born, I had a timeline in mind for when she might do things like go to her first dance. It seems I was off by about 23 years.
With this gross miscalculation on my part, I’m probably going to have to rethink her projected first date age… maybe.
I posted online that I had instructed her to introduce herself to any boy who approached her as the daughter of an overly protective deputy.
Almost immediately, my post had comments from my co-workers reminding me to remind her about all her likewise protective and deputized uncles.
While the post, and subsequent comments were all in jest (though I hope the boys never figure that out), it was an all too real reminder for me of the “village” I have helping me raise my children.
The post was a joke, the village is not.
Also last week, my son called me from his break at work. Our bank was recently bought out and the official conversion was taking place.
He had gone across the street from where he works to buy some food and his debit card wasn’t working, due to conversion issues.
He wakes up and rushes out of the door for school. He scarfs down whatever his mother leaves on the counter for him.
He goes to school all day then immediately goes to work after school. He doesn’t have time to eat then, so by the time his work break hits, he’s starving. We Nixes like our calories, that’s well-documented.
I could hear the disappointment in his voice as he was telling me his card wasn’t working and he was on his way back to work with no food.
He told me to he would call me right back, someone was calling for him in the store.
When he called me back he said a lady who was behind him in line had paid for his food.
He didn’t know who she was, he thinks she was a nurse, but he was able to thank her and give her a hug.
She didn’t know who he was, just a kid trying to buy some food. But she helped him out that night.
I wish I could thank her and give her a hug, as well.
This, too, was an all too real reminder for me of the “village” I have helping me raise my children.
Sometimes I know who all’s in my village. Sometimes my village is strangers in a grocery store.
But my village is full of love, and my children are lucky for it.
Toby Nix is a local writer, guitarist and deputy sheriff. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org .