When Dad Helps

“Wake up!” Dad fervently shook me,
Beaming and bursting with glee.

“Wakey, wakey!” louder and louder he yelled;
I was pretty surprised that the walls still held.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to sleep,
But Dad had other ideas he meant to keep.

“Today is a very special day,” Dad said,
As he continued pulling me out of my bed.

And he continued his long monologue,
As he was the only one with a dialogue.

My dad asked, “Guess what is today?”
He himself answered, “Women’s Day.”

“Today is special!” again he announced,
“I have an important job,” he said, as toward the kitchen he flounced.

Knowing my dad, I reluctantly went along
To sort things out if they went wrong.

I found him in the kitchen, balancing eggs in his hand,
Wobbling so much, barely able to stand.

Before I could run, an egg plonked on the ground,
With a crack that echoed around.

He stared at me, and I stared at him;
The situation was pretty grim.

I was sent to clean it—long story short,
I had to do it without a single retort.

My dad continued making omelettes;
Looking at him, I was starting to fret.

Instead of using a spatula, he was flipping the omelette in the pan
With such force that it finally stuck to the fan.

Subdued this time, another omelette was made,
With tea, cakes, and bread, the table was laid.

Dad straightened his pretend tie,
While I let out a small sigh.

A grin spread across his face;
His subduedness was gone without a trace.

“I know,” Dad beamed, “I will finish all of Mom’s chores beforehand.”
I sighed, how hard is it for him to understand?

His help would mean only one thing:
Trouble, that is, but how to convey it without hurting his feelings?

Taking my silence as a yes,
He vanished, and I ran behind to clear the mess.