Page 1 of The Parent Playbook
CHAPTER 1
ANGEL
On the outskirts of Maple Falls, a sugar-charged showdown has erupted. The air is thick with noise, a mash-up of shrieks and giggles loud enough to rival a hurricane. Beneath my feet, the ground vibrates with each bounce, a testament to the pandemonium playing out in front of me.
But let’s get real—this isn’t your textbook battle scene. Nope, this battlefield is crafted from inflated plastic and high spirits, a fortress for the fiercest four-foot-tall fighters known to man?—
Thirty-five preschoolers in a bouncy castle.
And here I am, playing watchdog at the edge, like a general overseeing her tiny, unruly army.
“Jesse, no head-first diving!” But my voice barely cuts through the sea of squeals and giggles. “Mia, keep your glasses on, warrior princess!” Commands fly from my lips, an attempt to impose order on the joyful anarchy, or at least avoid any broken bones or poked eyeballs.
These little champions, their faces alight with pure, unadulterated joy—this is why I keep fighting my own wars for funding the Happy Horizons Ranch. It’s for the triumphant cheers from a successfully navigated obstacle course. It means maintaining the various animals so they can accompanychildren struggling with illness or to open the eyes of classes of kids who come from Seattle’s less affluent neighborhoods. Every moment speaks to their resilience, to finding happiness in the simplest of pleasures. All this to watch them grow from little caterpillars into butterflies.
For the moment, that lofty ideal means I’m perched on the edge of an inflatable coliseum, barking orders like a general.
“Dave, no flips! Lacey, that’s enough of the war cry, sweetheart. And for the love of—Jimmy, untangle yourself from Sarah before you both turn into a preschool pretzel!”
Jimmy’s eyes light up with mischief, a mirror to his spirit that refuses to be dampened by the one-room apartment he shares with his mother and two siblings. And there’s Bella, twirling in a dress two seasons out of style with holes in the armpits, her grace unmatched. My heart swells for these kids.
I was one of them.
Yep, I came from the wrong side of the tracks in Maple Falls, a stone’s throw from where we’re standing. It was a place where dreams were as threadbare as our clothes. Back then, our version of this inflatable coliseum was a discarded fridge box, our giggles just as loud, our battles just as fierce.
In the thick of this pint-sized pandemonium, amidst the uproarious joy of kiddie combat, I get why I’m here. These little troopers, with giggles loud enough to plaster over their hardships, are like tiny beacons of stubborn hope, battling it out for their slice of a brighter future.
That’swhy I started Happy Horizons.
Each bounce, each laugh, is a tiny rebellion against the hardships these kids face outside the castle walls. I know their stories, the battles they fight when they leave this place. There’s Lacey, whose mom works three jobs to keep the lights on. And Thomas, who’s been bounced around more foster homes than I’ve had hot dinners. Their spirit is the real legend here.
“Angel!” I know that voice right away, despite it being on the other side of the castle walls.
“Enter at your own risk,” I shout to Troy, my good friend and the only man brave enough to enter the fray with me.
He’s a sweetheart disguised as a tough hockey dude. It’s thanks to him that the kids registered with Happy Horizons are able to go to the rink and learn all kinds of ice sports, since Troy is the owner of the local arena. We became friends almost immediately when he moved to town. One of his first stops was Happy Horizons Ranch, asking if I thought there was a need for the arena to help out with needy kids. That’s a good guy, and his wife is no less the saint. We’ve spent many long nights talking about our pasts, laughing together, and making plans to improve our community for kids. Ellie Butler, who I’ve known almost since birth, now teaches kids at the rink while also working for Troy and his wife, Kelly, from time to time.
Troy crawls into the castle, hesitantly standing at my side as if any wrong move might lead to his demise. He’s not wrong.
“Phew, made it inside alive. How’s it going, Angel?” he says just as a beach ball slams into his face, courtesy of one of our gladiators. “Oh no! I’m going down!” Troy falls like a log, and the kids swarm him like he’s the last piece of candy on Halloween. “I don’t see why people find toddlers so hard to manage!”
“Oh, it’s a regular day at the spa,” I quip, right before a knee finds its way to his groin.
Troy’s eyes bulge in silent agony, and I quickly shoo the kids away, offering my hand to help him up. I get hold of him just as my phone pings with the message I’ve been waiting for. “The contractor! At last! Fix-It-All is coming in two days. I have to send the deposit ASAP.” I let go of Troy’s hand to get into my online banking and he falls back into the quagmire. If only I had an accountant, this would have been easier. But times are tight and I want as many funds as possible going straight to the kids.
“I still don’t know why you didn’t get Rick and Rick Junior to do it.” Troy stumbles back to his feet.
“Look, you managed to convince your fancy-pants brother tofund Happy Horizons Ranch through the Ice Breakers, so the least I can do is a formal request for quotes to do the work. The fact is that Fix-It-All Inc. gave the lowest quote.”
Troy works his way back to his feet. “You know that Zach doesn’t care who fixes your roof, right? It’s about what you do for these kids on this amazing ranch.”
“If only it were just the roof. It’s the electricity. Plumbing. The fence. And I’m sure there’s more, if the accounting will add up to make it work. It’s not a small job. Of course Rick could have done it, but …”
How do I explain to the brother of my benefactor that as soon as Happy Horizons Ranch was formally announced as the charity selected to receive the proceeds from the Ice Breakers hockey team, I was struck by a bolt of imposter syndrome to rival a superhero’s origin story? These sports celebrity types are used to limos and caviar, not my countryside ranch that’s barely paying the bills. Since Zach announced it, I’ve been solely focused on—at the risk of an inglorious hockey pun—upping my game.
“The point is,” I continue, “Happy Horizons is on the cusp of becoming a state-wide charity improving the lives of children who otherwise wouldn’t have breakfast, wouldn’t have safe places to play, or experience summer camp, or farm and wildlife. Bringing in pros who aren’t from the same small town where we grew up can only be a good thing.”
“Yeah, but …” he scratches his head in that way where he thinks he knows best. His wife, Kelly, and I have often commiserated over hating that scratch. “You don’tknowFit-It-All Inc. You don’t know if they’re trustworthy.”
