Why Must You Turn Our Fridge Into a Wall of Lies?

I came home from work recently to discover this tacked to the fridge.  It is thoughtful.  It is touching.  It is complete and utter fiction.

You see, in the entire history of the time I have spent dropping my kid off at various daycares and schools never has what you see here ever, ever happened.  We could spend the entire 30-minute drive talking about cool stuff we could build in the shop, or a hard level on Xbox Lego Star Wars that is kicking our butts, or singing songs together to the mix CD I made, or simply riding in silence so he could finish up the new Magic Treehouse book, the second the door to the idling truck opens I may as well have never even existed.

“See you later, buddy!  Have fun today!” I say (I don’t refer to him as “son” as is depicted in the drawing because I am not time-traveling from the 1950s nor am I a cartoon billionaire) each and every time.

I don’t shout “I’ll miss you!” or  “Be good!” or “Make me proud! (again, not a cartoon billionaire…)” or any of about a million other things that could totally destroy him socially in front of his peers.

A muffled “Ok” is pretty much the best I can hope for as he dashes off to join his friends, who have likewise dismissed their parents as nothing more than the ethereal figments of a delusional ghost’s imagination.

I’m not asking for much, here, am I?  It’s not like I’m asking him to snap off a salute or anything.  Just a quick smile.  A little wave, maybe?

Something…

Oh, don’t get me wrong.  I’m not sad.  And I’m certainly not bitter.  I definitely prefer him excitedly running in to join up with his chattering classmates than clinging to the inside of the vehicle whining and crying and begging me not to make him go to school that day, you dig?  I’m very, very glad he enjoys the place so much.

Still, though…  “Insert smiley face emoticon followed by heavy sigh here,” right?