Lunch with TJ

     6:00 AM. I crept stealthily up the stairs to wake TJ for school. Down the hall the baby had just fallen asleep after a restless, fussy night. I cracked TJ's door. The light from the hall poured into the bedroom. I peered around the door in time to see her lurch up in her bed, cast off her covers, leap to the floor, and begin jumping up and down on her tip-toes,
     "I didn't sleep at all last night, Mama! I couldn't stop thinking that this is the day you are going to come to school and eat lunch with me!"
    The baby began crying. "Shhhh. Whisper, please. The baby is sleeping. We can talk down stairs." I tried my best to subdue her enthusiasm, but she bounded out of her room and down the stairs talking in full boom all the way. I may as well have told the north star not to twinkle as told TJ to calm down. During the next 30 minutes of twirling and leaping, she managed to get dressed, brush her teeth, comb her hair, find her backpack, put on her coat, get out the door, and beat her sister to the bus stop.
     At 10:15 baby Dani and I arrived at the school amid myriad of other  moms, dads, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins who had come to share Thanksgiving lunch with their kindergarten children. Class by class, the K5'ers paraded past the large crowd. When the searching eyes of the children caught sight of their family they grinned, waved, and waited for the signal to launch out of the line toward their kin. The adoring families eyes were soon diverted from their little ones to the bobbing of a blond head which rose rhythmically above all the others.
     "MAMA! MAMA!" TJ's voice echoed in the concrete hallway. "MAMA!"  The eyes of everyone were searching for the mama of this loud little girl who, unlike all the other good boys and girls, couldn't wait patiently.
     For me to acknowledge TJ would avert the gazes of the crowd of relatives, all the anxious children, the weary teachers, aides, staff, and volunteers toward me . . . the 59 year old, gray haired grandma, holding her her grand baby in her arms. This old woman would answer to 'Mama.' Questions will get bantered back and forth, quizzical looks arrowed toward me, and polite, obligatory nods of 'how nice that you have had a late in life child."
     I held Dani in the air for TJ to see and as inconspicuously as possible, hollered out, "Hi TJ." All eyes trained on me. "That's my daughter." Then the looks started and TJ continued with "Dani's my niece!" adding more confusion to everyone's already mystified minds.
     Soon, a tsunami of children came rushing forth. TJ grabbed my hand and drug me to the closest lunch line. The length of the winding line only added to my distress. TJ began jumping out of line and bringing her classmates over to me. "Brandon, this is my Mama." "Hey Karras! This is my Mom!" "Mama, this is Jordan," and on and on it went until I had met every kindergartner and a few parents as well. Somewhere in the long line of introductions it dawned on me that TJ is proud of me. It doesn't matter to her that I am older than all the other parents and older than some grandparents.
     All my pride was put to rest. I smiled at the lunch ladies and said 'yes, TJ is my daughter.' We found a crowded table on which to feast and the introductions continued, but I didn't blush any longer.
     TJ is proud of me.