Misunderstanding (Genesis, 1980)

aCS blog: Confessions of a Trophy Dad-Kevin Rudge

make-up \ˈmāˌkəp\ – something that makes up for a previous postponement, omission, failure, or deficiency. ~ Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary

Every Wednesday my three-year-old daughter went to gymnastics.

Well, most every Wednesday.

Because of my forgetfulness, and occasional bouts with lethargy, we missed a class or two, or three, or maybe . . . well, who’s counting?  Thankfully, I was able to schedule make-up classes.

The first time we missed class I informed Lucy that yes we missed gymnastics but not to be sad because “I was able to schedule a make-up class for next Monday.” To my surprise, Lucy wasn’t the least bit upset.  She appeared even excited about what she called her “new class.”

The day of the make-up class came. As I dressed Lucy in her black long-sleeved leotard, she asked me,”Dad, why do I have to wear my leotard to the make-up class?”

I answered simply, “Because it’s gymnastics. Gymnasts wear leotards.”

For a moment Lucy looked confused, before apparently making sense of my response. Running late (what else is new?), I moved past her odd question and quizzical look.

As we pulled into the gymnastics parking lot, Lucy asked, “Is the make-up class here?”

“Of course, where else would it be Silly?” I said.

Lucy sat silently, suddenly looking unsure about the situation.

I hustled Lucy inside and quickly shed all but her leotard (and Dora The Explorer underwear — stylishly visible underneath). Racing through the gym door, I directed her to a smiling instructor seated in a small circle of Lucy sized humans.

Lucy hesitated before slowly making her way to the circle and finding a spot to sit.

For the next fifty-five minutes I watched with a handful of Moms from the waiting area as the children stretched, straddled, somersaulted, jumped, ran, balanced, and lastly — what I’m told is the very “bestest” part — got ink stamps on their hands and feet. Lucy gave her instructor a high-five and came bursting through the gym door. Looking like she had something very important to tell me, she ran to where I sat.

“Daddy! There was no makeup in the class.”

Puzzled by her comment I repeated,”No makeup?”

Shaking her head from side-to-side, Lucy said, “Yes, they had no makeup! It was not the makeup class.”

I smiled, “Honey, that was not a makeup class it was . . .”

Interrupting, she said, “I know Dad, you put me in the wronged class!”

Oh okay, you mean the makeup class, as in a class about cosmetics, commonly confused by fathers with the make-up class, as in the save your ass class when he forgets to take his kid to the regularly scheduled class. Well, someone had some explaining to do — and that would be me.

The same word but with a different meaning conundrum. The peculiarity of language or the natural by-product of a forty-four-year-old man sharing his days with a three-year-old makeup crazed little girl?

I don’t know who or what is to blame. But I do know, you can’t make up this stuff.

makeup \ˈmāˌkəp\ – cosmetics used to color and beautify the face. ~ Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary

Kevin Rudge is a stay-at-home dad of three girls and practicing trophy husband.  He lives and writes from his home in suburban Chicago.  More of his humorous observations and confessions can be found at MyDadDoesNotWork.com.

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