Having a child around is so much trouble. What do I know about children anyway? They cry and they smell, at least the young ones do. And this one is still pretty young.
My trouble-making sister, running off and getting herself killed in a car accident, sticking me with her blond, blue-eyed miniature urchin. Who’d have thought something so small could be the source of such larger problems? A problem with a knack for breaking things and getting into places she doesn’t belong.
She tries to appear innocent behind those dirty blond curls, coveralls soaked in mud and sticky, black oil. She obviously crawled through the pigpen, not a pleasant smell by any means. She goes through clothes like I blow through hankies when suffering a bad cold.
To top it off she’s tracked this wonderful, smelly concoction onto the hot air balloon bag I was mending in the barn. My beautiful balloon, cherry red and lemon yellow...my pride and joy. Now it’s a mess!
This kid’s an expert at playpen escape, no matter how many alterations I concoct. After getting as dirty and smelly as possible, she danced with delight all over the balloon bag stretched out on the barn floor. I was only gone a few minutes.
My horror is complete. I feel the colour bleeding from my face and my heart wincing in my chest.
The muddy brat claps her oily hands and shouts, “Bah-lloon!”
I manage to swallow my rage. I am certainly not a child beater. It doesn’t make me a child liker either.
I take her oily hand and lead her off the balloon bag. She’s filthy, smelly, and probably hungry. If I don’t tend to the situation she’ll start crying and distract me from further work anyway.
After hosing her down, I dress her in the cleanest pair of coveralls I can find, and make her a peanut butter and honey sandwich.
As she eats my eyes rest on the laundry pile. It may as well be a mountain. I’m so tired of peanut butter and honey sandwiches, her favourite. The oil stains on the balloon bag keep plague my thoughts. I am exhausted!
After lunch I pen the child again, grateful she’s ready for a nap. I resume the repair, rubbing away the oil as best I can. What if I sent her off in the balloon? She could float far, far away and become someone else’s problem. The first smile in many days plays upon my lips. I could always make another balloon.
When the repair is done I take the balloon into the yard and connect the ropes and small basket. Time for a test spin. I call it the Cloudhopper, and every summer I make a good penny giving rich people rides. This supplements the farm’s income and makes the cold winters more comfortable.
The balloon floats up, not hindered by the stains, but looking awful. Who would shell out good money to ride in something this dirty? A small gust of wind suddenly appears and the balloon rocks back and forth.
If there’s one thing I am especially good at, it’s predicting the weather. The small gust may as well have whispered in my very ear that for about two hours a steady wind would be passing through.
No time like the present to take advantage of such an opportunity.
I wake the child and hand her the teddy bear she adores. She is yawning as I lift her small frame into the Cloudhopper’s basket; still rubbing her eyes as the balloon wobbles off the ground.
“Bah-lloon!” she cries with glee.
It’s the only word she seems to know, and has no qualms about verbalizing it over and over and over…
The wind picks up. The balloon rises higher.
“Bah-lloon! Bah-lloon!”
Higher it goes.
“Look daddy!” she squeals, pointing down.
This takes me by surprise. “But I’m not your…”
She is smiling her baby-tooth smile, chubby little hands clinging to my shoulders. Her blue eyes are wide in amazement. She’s so excited. I don’t have the heart to tell her I am not her daddy.
Instead I point out the small town and the Clydesdale farm. She really likes horses. Yes indeed, I was never one to waste a good opportunity. With a perfect wind such as this, I just had to take my niece up in the bah-lloon.
“Two more minutes, then it’s time to go home Madeline.” I hug her a little closer.
This year the fair goers will just have to understand I am a father now. It’s certainly not easy, but you roll with the punches. Sometimes kids mess things up. I have learned that you simply love them and carry on.