Chapter 2: The Thirty-Minute Rule
At 6:15 that evening, I was standing in the kitchen, watching Danielle put a pan of chicken on the stove, when I decided it was time to address the situation.
Jordan sat at the dining table, coloring a picture of a dinosaur that looked suspiciously like our neighbor's dog.
I folded my arms.
“Danielle, we need to talk.””
She didn't turn around.
“About what?””
“About what happened this afternoon.””
She stirred the chicken.
“Oh, you mean when Jordan saved you from making an unauthorized gaming decision?””
I stared at her.
“See, that's exactly what I'm talking about.””
“What are you talking about, Marcus?””
“I don't need permission to play a video game.””
She finally turned around, holding the wooden spoon like a microphone.
“Then why did you ask me for thirty minutes by sitting there looking at me like a disappointed teenager?””
“I did not ask you for thirty minutes.””
“You didn't have to. Your face did.””
From the dining table, Jordan raised his head.
“Daddy, are you in trouble?””
“No, son.””
Danielle glanced at him.
“Your daddy is negotiating.””
Jordan considered that for a moment.
“Does he need me to ask for him again?””
I had to close my eyes.
“Jordan, color your dinosaur.””
He returned to his drawing without another word.
Danielle bit her lip, fighting another smile.
I pointed at her.
“Don't encourage him.””
“I'm not encouraging him. He's naturally talented.””
“Talented at what?””
“Problem-solving.””
I pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Listen. I understand that you want us to be on the same page when it comes to parenting. That's fine. But I don't want our son thinking his father needs permission for every little thing.””
Danielle's expression softened.
For a moment, I thought I had finally gotten through to her.
Then she set the spoon down.
“Marcus, nobody said you needed permission to breathe. But you told Jordan you were going to play for a while, and he remembered that we'd agreed to keep screen time limited when he was around.””
I blinked.
“What does that have to do with me?””
“Because you made a big speech about being the man who pays the bills instead of simply explaining that adults have different rules from children.””
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
She continued.
“You can play your game. I'm not your mother. But if you're asking me to take over dinner, bath time, and bedtime while you disappear into the television for three hours, then yes, we need to discuss it.””
“That is not what happened.””
“It's what happened last Saturday.””
I leaned back.
Last Saturday had been a difficult day. I'd worked late on Friday, promised Jordan we'd build a toy race track on Saturday morning, and then spent most of the afternoon playing a game after he fell asleep on the sofa.
I had told myself I deserved a break.
Danielle had spent that same afternoon entertaining our son, cleaning the kitchen, and preparing dinner.
I hadn't thought much about it at the time.
Now, with her standing across from me, I could remember the small things I'd missed.
Jordan carrying his race-track pieces into the living room.
Danielle asking whether I could pause the game for ten minutes.
Me saying, “In a minute.””
That minute turning into nearly an hour.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Okay. Maybe I played a little longer than I planned.””
Danielle nodded.
“A little?””
“Fine. A lot.””
“Thank you.””
I looked at Jordan.
He was coloring the dinosaur's teeth purple.
“Son, come here for a second.””
Jordan slid off his chair and approached me, holding the drawing against his chest.
“Yes, Daddy?””
“Why did you ask your mother whether I could play the game?””
He looked genuinely surprised by the question.
“Because you said you pay the bills.””
“Right.””
“And Mama makes the rules.””
Danielle turned toward the stove so I wouldn't see her smile.
I narrowed my eyes at my son.
“Who told you that?””
“Nobody.””
“Then where did you get that idea?””
Jordan shrugged.
“That's what happens.””
I looked at Danielle.
She raised both hands.
“Don't look at me. He's been observing this household.””
I crouched so I was at eye level with Jordan.
“Listen, buddy. Your mother and I are both grown-ups. We don't need permission to do everything.
But we do talk to each other because we're a team. Understand?””
Jordan nodded slowly.
“Okay.””
“And Daddy can decide when he wants to play his game.””
“Okay.””
I smiled.
“Good.””
Jordan studied my face for another second.
Then he asked, “So can I have ice cream before dinner?””
I stared at him.
From the stove, Danielle made a sound that was suspiciously close to a cough.
I pointed toward the dining table.
“Go finish your dinosaur.””
Jordan walked away, apparently satisfied that he'd at least attempted another negotiation.
Danielle waited until he was seated before she looked at me.
“You know what your problem is?””
I sighed.
“I'm sure you're going to tell me.””
“You think every disagreement is a contest you have to win.””
That one landed differently.
I wanted to laugh it off. I wanted to remind her that I was joking, that the whole thing was harmless, that we were talking about a video game and a five-year-old with purple dinosaur teeth.
But I couldn't.
Because I knew she wasn't talking about the game anymore.
She was talking about the way I sometimes treated family life like something that interrupted the things I wanted to do.
I looked toward Jordan.
He was humming to himself, carefully coloring inside the lines.
“I don't want him thinking I'm weak,” I admitted.
Danielle stepped closer.
“Marcus, being a good father isn't about proving you're the boss. It's about showing him what a good man looks like.””
I swallowed.
For once, I didn't have a comeback.
She touched my shoulder.
“And for the record, you can play your game tonight. Just finish helping me get everything ready first.””
I nodded.
“Fair enough.””
She smiled.
“Look at that. A grown man negotiating like a grown man.””
I laughed despite myself.
Then Jordan suddenly raised his head from the table.
“Mama?””
“Yes, baby?””
“Can Daddy have extra minutes because he helped with dinner?””
Danielle looked at me.
I looked at Jordan.
And before either of us could answer, our son added one more sentence.
“But he still has to ask you.””
I dropped my head into my hands.
Danielle laughed so hard she had to sit down.
I had officially lost the argument.
But as I watched my son grin over his purple-toothed dinosaur, I began to suspect that winning wasn't the point.
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Unfortunately, I was still stubborn enough to need one more lesson before I understood why.
And the next morning, Jordan was going to deliver it in front of someone I desperately wanted to impress.
