One of the Most Beautiful Days of My Life

Do you think that's an exaggeration? Do you think something especially interesting happened, worth telling the rest of you readers about? No, it's not an exaggeration, and no, I don't think anything particularly interesting happened. Objectively, it was probably just another day of my life. But to me, it was something beautifully special. Here's the story, and I'll let each of you decide for yourselves whether it really was a beautiful day.

The day started fairly early with a visit to a house that was for sale. We've been talking as a family for a while now about buying a house with a garden, and lately, thanks to your mother, we've actually started managing to schedule these visits. The house was in a quiet little village just outside Colmar, on an even quieter little street. By the time we got there it was already 31 degrees Celsius and the air was stale and still. The real estate agent was already waiting for us at the door. After a short twenty-minute visit, we both silently reached the same conclusion — this wasn't the house for us. But the agent pleasantly surprised us; somehow, in that short amount of time, he managed to build trust and a real connection with us. I told him briefly why we felt the house wasn't right for us, and that we'd still love his help finding another one.

Luca stayed quiet in his mother's arms without making much noise. An occasional "goo goo" let us know he was still taking part in the conversation. Laura, you weren't feeling well — your stomach was upset. The moment we walked into the house, you told me you felt so sick you couldn't walk anymore. I carried you the whole visit, not fully understanding what the problem was. It wasn't until we were outside, in front of the car, when you threw up, that I realized peaches and hummus don't actually mix all that well in a small stomach. I've never really limited what you're allowed to eat, so you could build your own experiences in life. Well, today you learned that this particular combination is best avoided.

This whole day belongs entirely to you, Laura, my love. In the afternoon, I told you I needed to drive half an hour to the clothing store because I was missing a pair of shorts for our vacation. I told you that without those shorts I couldn't go to Spain, and that I'd need someone to help me pick them out. Since Mommy couldn't come along with Luca, I asked you, and at the same time told you I'd understand if you had other plans and couldn't make it. "But Daddy, if you don't come to Spain, I'll miss you so much!" And with that one sentence, we settled it together — you would come with me and help. But like any fashion consultant, your services couldn't go unpaid, so I paid you 15 euros, which you immediately put into your piggy bank.

Thirty minutes later, and 40 kilometers further, we pulled up in front of the store. There, you took your role very seriously, looking over every pair of shorts I tried on with a critical eye, asking more than once whether they were too tight around the backside. Once you were satisfied there were no issues, we could head back toward Colmar, to the mall in Houssen. While we were waiting in line for ice cream there, you suddenly turned to me, very seriously, out of nowhere: "Daddy, I need to work hard when I grow up, so I can make lots of money!" "Why do you need money?" "So I can buy lots of toys!" "Are toys expensive?" "Yes, they're expensive. You and Mommy buy me a lot of them because you make more money, but I need to earn money too!" "You know what would be a good idea? We could actually start a business together — look, I'll be your business partner. We'll cover the costs together and split the money together. Since you love painting, you'll paint pictures and drawings, I'll handle framing them and the marketing, and we'll sell them! We'll split the money!" "Yes, what a great idea!" "But you know what else would be a good idea? If you donated some of the toys you buy to kids who don't have as many toys as you do!" "Yes! That would be so nice of me!"

A little while later, we spent our first money in the interest of our newly founded company, and you covered half the cost — 10 euros — entirely on your own, straight from your piggy bank. When we got home that evening, we drank a little water and went back out with the scooter to find a terrace where we could get something to eat. It was just the two of us again, since Mommy had to stay home with Luca.

There were so many tourists everywhere you could barely breathe. If I'm not mistaken, this week there's a book fair and a wine exhibition in Colmar, so there was a little something for everyone — which explains all the crowds in the streets.

By the time we finally found a terrace, you were already starving. The lovely waitress, whom we asked to bring us soup or a starter a little faster, pointed out to us all the other people at the other tables who were also waiting. We accepted politely and thanked her. This was one of those moments where I tried to teach you that strong people have patience — they know how to wait, and they can wait. Even when we were thirsty and water was being served to every table but ours, you managed to stay calm and wait. When the drinks finally came, we could actually laugh about it and look up at the sky, puzzled. I told you how the dark clouds we'd seen at dawn hadn't seemed like a good sign. In a way, it was a good thing we looked up, because two minutes later those clouds were right above us.

I hadn't even finished telling you I thought it might rain when the sky split in two. Thunder, lightning, and a downpour crashed down on us. Like I'd been bitten by a snake, I jumped up, quickly pushed the table under the umbrella along with the chair you were sitting on, and sat back down. Everyone else around us who'd been caught off guard by the rain had to make do with a mix of schnitzel and schnitzel soup.

The Italian tourists to our right did nothing but complain. First they complained that no one had taken their order fast enough, then they complained that the food hadn't come, and finally they complained that the whole sky had opened up right over their heads. It really was quite a scene — as if all the angels up above had decided, at the exact same moment, to relieve themselves right on top of us. At every table, left and right, all you could hear were unhappy voices; everyone was cursing, and those too worn out to curse anymore just settled for grunts of discontent.

I sat there watching the sky. Even though we were sheltered under the umbrella, I was weighing whether it might be better to leave — either go home altogether, or step inside the restaurant. Going inside, of course, would only have meant standing there to stay out of the rain, since there were no tables free in there either. The Italian tourists next to us were already on their feet; at another table, people were cursing up a storm; my left arm and leg had started getting properly soaked, and one umbrella gave way under the weight of the water pooling on top of it, dumping several good liters straight onto the head of a woman trying to drink her wine. The battle cry that came out of her could have been put to good use by William Wallace charging into an attack.

In the middle of this apocalyptic scene, I looked over at you, trying to figure out if you were okay — if you were scared of the thunder and lightning, if you were wet. My eyes found your sweet, sharp little eyes. You were calm, sure of yourself, your face full of love. Without me having to say a word, you murmured to me, "I think it's good that it's raining, that way the plants get water to drink too!" "You're right, my love!" "Are you wet?" "Yes, here on my leg — but I'll tuck it under the table, because it's not raining under the table!"

We squeezed as close together as we could under the umbrella and made ourselves as small as possible. Not long after, our pizza arrived. The lovely waitress who'd taken our order had rushed it through the kitchen, and it came to us right away, well ahead of the other customers. We thanked her at the end. After we finished eating, I was thinking we should head home, and I found myself gently arguing with you, trying to explain that if we went to the playground at Montagne Verte, all the swings and slides would be wet and you wouldn't be able to play. Another problem was that it was still raining fairly hard, and even though Place Schwendi isn't far from Montagne Verte, it would still take us ten minutes to get there.

The moment you accepted, like a mature little person, that we should just go home, I realized it was actually worth pushing the limits a little. As long as it wasn't pouring torrentially, we'd try to go anyway. And that's exactly what we did — we walked there in the rain, and afterward walked home quietly through it. We were so absorbed in our conversation that at some point we actually forgot it was raining at all. I only realized it was still raining when I saw the drops disturbing the puddles on the street. I realized I couldn't even remember the last time I'd walked through the rain like that. And with you, a four-year-old girl, we certainly weren't walking fast. In front of the library, I asked if you wanted to lie down on the ground, at which you gave me a strange look. "If you want to know what wet asphalt feels like, you can lie down — I'm giving you permission!" You politely declined, mentioning a small bump on your knee that hadn't quite healed yet. Further along the way home, we ran into our neighbor and stood in the rain chatting with her for a bit. Right before we went up into the house, we came across a big puddle. I didn't even get the chance to ask you twice if you wanted to jump into it with your sandals and socks still on — you were already in full "adventure mode." After five minutes of jumping and laughing, we finally made it upstairs to Mommy.

Mommy was waiting for you with a smile, already partly aware of what you'd been up to and of the whole adventure. Except even Mommy wasn't quite prepared when you took water from the kitchen and poured it all over yourself in the middle of the living room to keep your adventure going. You told her you wanted to make a new puddle to jump in, and you told me you were cleaning up all by yourself because you like working hard — the harder you work, the more money you earn. So we'll never really know the true reason the water ended up on the floor and the carpet.

While I was writing these lines down, you jumped out of bed twice, ran over to me, and thanked me for your day of adventures. To be honest, my love, I'm the one who should be thanking you for my day of adventures. Thank you for giving me the chance to see the world around us through the eyes of a child.