Chapter 2: The Thirty-Minute Agreement
I should have known better than to argue with a five-year-old who had already secured executive approval.
But pride is a funny thing.
Especially when your audience consists of your wife, who is trying not to laugh, and your son, who appears convinced that he has just performed an important public service.
I picked up the controller and turned it over in my hands.
Jordan remained beside the coffee table.
He wasn't playing with his toys anymore.
He was watching me.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“What?”” I asked.
Jordan shook his head.
“Nothing.””
That answer should have ended the conversation.
Instead, it made me suspicious.
I pointed toward the television.
“Go play with your toys, man. Daddy's about to get started.””
Jordan looked toward the kitchen.
Then he looked back at me.
He didn't move.
I pressed my lips together.
“Jordan.””
He raised his eyebrows.
I had seen that expression before. It was the same look Tasha gave me when I announced that I was going to run one quick errand and returned two hours later with a new pair of sneakers and no explanation for why I had also stopped at a hardware store.
It was an expression that said the other person was waiting for me to realize something obvious.
I turned toward the kitchen.
Tasha was still standing at the island. She had finished arranging the plates and was now wiping a perfectly clean section of countertop with a dish towel.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Neither of us spoke.
Then her eyes drifted toward the controller in my hands.
She smiled.
I immediately turned back to the television.
I wasn't giving her the satisfaction.
The game console powered up, and I settled deeper into the sofa. The controller felt comfortable in my hands. The afternoon sun warmed one side of my face, and for the first time all day, I felt like I was about to enjoy a few minutes that belonged entirely to me.
Then I remembered the thirty-minute limit.
I glanced at the clock.
I hadn't even started playing, and I was already mentally calculating how much time I had left.
That was ridiculous.
I was thirty-four years old.
I wasn't going to let a five-year-old dictate my afternoon.
I could play for thirty-one minutes if I wanted.
Thirty-five, even.
The thought made me feel better until I noticed Jordan standing in almost exactly the same place.
He had moved one small toy car from the left side of the coffee table to the right.
That was it.
He was still watching me.
I lowered the controller slightly.
“Buddy, you good?””
Jordan nodded.
“Uh-huh.””
“You need something?””
“Nope.””
“Then why you standing there looking at me?””
He tilted his head.
“I'm making sure.””
I stared at him.
“Making sure of what?””
“That you know.””
I looked toward the kitchen so quickly that my neck almost complained.
Tasha had abandoned all pretense of cleaning.
She was leaning against the island, watching us with open amusement.
I pointed at her.
“Don't start.””
She lifted both hands innocently.
“I didn't say anything.””
“You don't have to.””
Her smile widened.
I turned back to Jordan.
“Son, I heard your mama. Thirty minutes. I understand.””
Jordan considered this.
Then he nodded with the calm satisfaction of someone checking an item off a list.
“Okay, Daddy.””
Finally.
He picked up his toy car and rolled it along the coffee table.
I returned my attention to the television.
The game began.
For approximately forty seconds, everything was perfect.
Then a small voice rose beside me.
“Daddy?””
I kept my eyes on the screen.
“Yeah?””
“Is this thirty minutes?””
I paused the game.
I turned slowly.
Jordan was pointing at the television.
I looked at the clock.
Then at him.
“Have I even been playing for five minutes?””
He shrugged.
“I don't know.””
“Then why are you asking me?””
He gave me the sort of thoughtful look usually reserved for difficult questions about dinosaurs.
“Because thirty minutes is a long time.””
From the kitchen came a short, unmistakable sound.
Tasha was laughing again.
I put the controller down on my lap.
“Baby, are you going to let me play, or are you going to have him supervise the whole thing?””
Tasha wiped beneath one eye.
“I'm not supervising anything.””
I looked at Jordan.
He was now rolling his car around the leg of the coffee table, apparently satisfied that the situation was under control.
Tasha continued, “He asked me a question, and I answered him.””
“You gave him a number.””
“You told him you were grown.””
“And I am.””
“Then I'm sure you can manage thirty minutes.””
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Looked at the television.
There are arguments a man can win.
There are arguments a man can lose.
And then there are arguments in which his wife is correct, his son is pleased with himself, and any further discussion will only make the situation worse.
This was the third kind.
I picked up the controller again.
“Fine.””
Tasha nodded.
“Fine.””
Jordan glanced up.
“Okay, Daddy.””
I started playing.
This time, I lasted almost three minutes before I began enjoying myself.
I forgot about the clock. I forgot about the conversation. I even forgot that my son had appointed himself the unofficial manager of my free time.
Then I heard his little footsteps approaching the sofa.
He stopped beside my knee.
I kept my eyes on the television.
“What is it now, boss?””
Jordan held up his toy car.
“Can I sit by you?””
That softened me immediately.
I shifted over and patted the cushion beside me.
“Come on.””
He climbed onto the sofa and tucked his legs beneath him. For a few moments, he watched the screen without saying anything.
Then he leaned closer.
“Daddy?””
“Yeah, buddy?””
“Are you having fun?””
I smiled.
“Yeah. I'm having fun.””
He nodded as though that was the answer he had been waiting for.
Then he settled against my side.
For a moment, I stopped playing and looked down at him.
His little red hoodie was slightly twisted at the shoulder. One curl rested against his forehead. His toy car sat forgotten between his knees.
He wasn't trying to control me.
He just wanted to be near me.
And suddenly, the thirty-minute rule didn't feel quite so insulting.
I put an arm around him and continued playing while he watched.
From the kitchen, Tasha observed us quietly.
Her expression had changed. The laughter was still there, but beneath it was something softer.
She knew how much I loved these moments.
She also knew that I sometimes acted as if relaxing were another responsibility I needed to defend.
Jordan leaned against me.
Then, just as I began to relax, he lifted his head.
“Daddy?””
I sighed.
“Yes, sir?””
He looked at the television, then at the controller.
“Can I tell you something?””
I paused the game.
“Of course.””
May you like
Jordan took a small breath.
And the expression on his face told me that whatever he was about to say, he considered it extremely important.
