Page 4 of Pity Party

I follow behind Sammy as we walk down the stairs of our house for the last time. I force myself not to look back. “Eyes ahead,” I say. I’m telling myself as much as her. “We’re on our way to a brand-new future, and it’s going to be great!”Dear God, please don’t let me be lying.

As we leave the home where we created so many wonderful memories, Sammy asks, “Can we stop for one last deep-dish pizza before we go?”

We’ve been checking items off her “one-last-time list” for the better part of a month. We’ve already had one last deep-dish pizza four times, which is clearly one time short of what’s needed. “Edwardo’s spinach and garlic pie?” I ask unnecessarily.

“Yes, please.”

When we get to the car, I open the passenger door of the SUV. Once Sammy’s settled, I run around to the driver’s side and get in. “Chicago is only two hours from Elk Lake. We can come back for pizza as often as we want.”

We drive down Arlington Place for the last time and turn onto Clark Street. “Want to play a game?”

“I Spy?”

“How about the dream game?” Sammy and I came up with this game one night when she was five. She’d had a nightmare she couldn’t quite shake, so we started talking about all the good dreams she could have. Over the years, we started calling it the dream game.

Reclining her chair slightly, Sammy leans her head back and starts. “I dream of being popular at school.”Ouch.

“I dream of never losing my hair,” I say.

“I dream about being a cheerleader.”

“Me, too,” I tell her while glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. Her mouth turns up as she valiantly tries to keep from laughing.

“I dream about meeting Taylor Swift,” she continues.

“I dream about being the lead singer in a boy band.”

She smacks my arm while laughing. “You are so embarrassing, do you know that?”

“You won’t be saying that when James and the Giant Peaches takes the world by storm and all your new friends get guaranteed backstage passes.”

“You’re naming your band James and the Giant Peaches? Dad, that’s horrible.”

“How about Jamie and the Jam?”

“What flavor? Strawberry? Raspberry?” I’m clearly not winning her over with this idea.

“Fine, smarty pants. You come up with a name for my boy band.”

“I think you need to give up on the boy band fantasy and keep writing slogans for your marketing company.”

“Give up on my dream?” I demand hotly. “This is not thegive up on your dreamgame, it’s thedreamgame!”

“Fine, I dream of having a mom.”

“Sammy…” My tone is full of warning.

“I know my real mom doesn’t want to be a mom. Heck, she doesn’t even want to meet me, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fall in love and marry someone who will give me great advice.”

“Doesn’t Grandma give you advice?” I ask. I hate that Sammy’s mom isn’t in her life, but I’m not going to run out and get married because of it. There’s a lot of truth to that saying, once bitten, twice shy, and I’ve spent the last twelve years being very shy of the opposite sex.

“Grandma can’t remember her last period, let alone her first. I need someone a lot younger who can answer those questions.”

I shift in my seat nervously. “I’m willing to bet YouTube has the answers.” Now if that isn’t some great parenting, I don’t know what is.

Sammy huffs, “Are you telling me you’d rather I learn about my body from the Internet than from a real person?”

“Didn’t they have sex ed in school this year?” This topic is the last thing I want to discuss with my daughter.

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