Maybe I should just pay the last desperate penny. He is committed to this.
Instead, I told him, “let’s go through the house together. Let’s look in all the corners and on the carpet. I swear a penny fell out while I was walking around yesterday.”
What he didn’t know was that I had just grabbed a penny of my own, and tossed it onto the stairs.
We scoured the main level. Nothing.
We looked under the couches. Nothing.
“Let’s go upstairs and look,” I told him.
“Yeah, there’s gotta be one upstairs,” he chirped, and he ran toward the stairs.
And then he sprinted up the stairs.
And he passed right over that dang penny.
“Noah!” I yelled up.
“What!?” he yelled down.
“I’m going to the bathroom real quick. Make sure you check the stairs, too. I haven’t looked there, yet.” And with that, I disappeared into the bathroom where I would pretend to be doing something just to escape and let him find it.
You would have thought he had just hit a jackpot on a slot machine when he did. “DAD! DAD! DAD! Oh my gosh! A penny! A penny! I have enough! I have enough!”
I exited the bathroom. He was holding the penny above him with two hands, a smile spread from Nevada to Kansas, and proud as could be.
And we went upstairs together, and ordered his new kendama.
What he didn’t see was the moment when I noticed it wouldn’t arrive before he had to head back to his mom’s house. It would cost an extra $3.99 to get it here in time.
I’m a stickler over a penny, but not over something like that. So I secretly set it to pay the four-dollar shipping, and I let him click the button to put the order in motion. That was yesterday.
And now we wait for that knock on the door that says, “your hard earned kendama is finally here, and it’s going to be worth every penny.”
Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing