There once was a father not named Pierre who only would say, "I don't care." I keep wanting to read Maurice Sendak's cautionary tale aloud to Dad, but it wouldn't make any difference. Neither would hitting Dad with the folding wheelchair. Thank heaven I have decades of experience with three year olds, so I am ready when Dad says he doesn't want to eat lunch and I CAN'T MAKE HIM. Sigh. This is so boring. They always say that!
Dad, I'm a preschool teacher on my one day off this week. I'm not going to play would-you-could-you-on-a-train-and-in-the-rain with you. You don't want green eggs and ham? See if I care!
I go back to Will Shortz's Saturday crossword puzzle, and decline to make eye contact. Soon Dad is snarfing down his chicken vegetable soup and apple juice. When he pushes away from his tray I say, "Too bad you didn't have crackers for your soup."
Oh, yeah. Crackers would be so good. Give that boy a saltine!
© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder