"No, Daddy, no," Cross replied and then proceeded to sing the song in the correct manner as we approached our car. "Mommy finger drove home in her own car," I answered. "Mommy finger, mommy finger where are you?" Cross continued. "Hey," the guy said, while the woman he was with stared at me briefly and looked away. The two of us walked down the block singing "The Finger Family" song as a goofy couple passed us. I took her hand and we made our way to my car. Cross didn't answer, just wrapped her tiny arms around my shin. "Are you riding with me or your daddy?" she asked Cross. My wife and I had arrived in separate cars. So as you can probably imagine, she was cranky, clingy and ready for sleep. But it was 10 p.m when we finished, and our daughter is normally washed, read-to, and in bed by 8:15. Cross even finished an adult order of fries. We ate like we'd never eaten before, cleaning our plates until they were shiny, scraping away any evidence of food. We all felt we were being responsible with our shiny plastic lanyards protecting our vaccination cards in a restaurant was that was otherwise empty. We are still playing it safe while trying to get the baby exposure to people who aren't her parents and grandparents. After the event, my family, including my daughter, went with a small group of friends to a nearby restaurant to grab a quick a bite. Our conversation went well - Heidi and I dropped some gems, most of my jokes landed, and I sold some books.
CROSSOUT REDDIT FREE
Everyone was masked accept me and my interviewer, Heidi Daniel, President and CEO of the Enoch Pratt Free Library, because we were on stage. The theater was big, and the crowd of about 50 people were able to space out. "Don't mind that kid, I think I owe her money!" I said to the crowd. She was so excited that my wife and her sitter Nia took turns taking her in and out of the room. "Daddy! Daddy, I want Daddy!" Cross screamed like a crazed fan as I found my place on the stage. And since I've done so many recent events in my home town of Baltimore, we figured my last for a long while wouldn't be too crowded, and baby girl would get see her old man on stage for the first time. I've read to groups as small as 10 and spoken to crowds of more than 100. And with that in mind, my wife and I decided to take her to one of my public book events.Īs students return to school, fears of monkeypox transmission lingerĪttendance at my book, film and writing events has been hit and miss during the pandemic, with all the new COVID strands that continue to pop up pushing people back into their homes after they've started to venture out. And even now, as the world opens up more and more, we are still playing it safe while trying to get the baby exposure to people who aren't her parents and grandparents. Everything during her first year of life was extremely scary and extreme in unexplainable levels, from the way I soaked all our incoming packages in off-brand disinfectant because of the global Lysol shortage to the plastic bubble tent my wife created to shield the baby during doctor visits while I wore a Hazmat suit. My daughter Cross was born in January 2020, two months before the world locked down in the first wave of the COVID-19 pandemic. My family tries to consider the relative dangers of each of these plagues in the most responsible ways we can - we vaccinate, we mask, we distance - as we fight for normalcy. It's good if folks who have been diagnosed have found a positive way to deal with it, and yet even the idea of another viral outbreak terrifies me. This on top of what feels like a dozen strands of COVID still floating around, and polio. Monkeypox looks painful, and the screen makes it feel close. Like a car wreck in a traffic jam, I can't look away. Monkeypox keeps finding its way onto my timelines - photos, videos, TikToks and livestreams from people who have contracted it raising awareness of what a positive case of this viral disease looks like.
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