As I open the car door I steel myself for the challenge ahead. The hill looms large and daunting. I sigh heavily as she begs me not to have to climb the hill. “It’s too high and too far. Can’t we find another way?” she pleads.
I say again what I’ve said many, many times before, “There is no other way. We can’t drive all the way to the top of the hill”.
With a pleading and somewhat hopeful look on her face she asks in a small voice, “We could just go home instead? I hate this hill”.
“No we can’t” I say. “We have to get to the top of the hill, look! It’s not that far. We’ll be there in no time” I say with some exasperation showing.
She looks devastated and with a last longing glance at the car she and I begin our trek to the buildings clustered on the hilltop.
Step after step she trudges as if every footfall was made at the limit of her endurance. She puffs and pants and casts accusing looks in my direction as if I was responsible for all that is ill in her world and she says in a quiet menacing voice “I don’t like walking up this hill. It’s too far and I don’t see why we should have to walk so far”.
“It’s good exercise” I say trying to distract her train of thought and have the subject changed.
“No. It’s not” she responds with a tone of finality. I smile to myself and continue walking upwards in the gentle morning sunshine.
After what seems like an eternity to her we have arrived at the bottom of the stairs that mark the last obstacle in our journey together this morning. To my surprise she bounds up the stairs and turns around at the top with a huge grin on her face and says “Hey Daddy I beat you up to the top”.
I quickly escort Haylee to her grade one classroom and return to my car happy in the knowledge that although this story is for me, repeated every single school day, I always look forward to it.
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