I COULDN’T BELIEVE there were still a few rays of sunlight when I made it back home. Between the caseload
and the early darkness of winter evenings, I barely remembered what the outside of our building looked like in
daylight. It was nice to be home a little early. But, as usual, I felt guilty for not doing more on the bombing cases.
It was hard not to be consumed by investigations with so much at stake.
The more we looked at everything, the more I believed these bombings were connected. It didn’t matter if the
devices were different—someone was guiding the entire effort. Then a flash of my conversation with Abby Boyd’s
mother ran through my mind. It didn’t really matter if this was the work of a serial bomber. That young woman’s
mother deserved some closure and justice.
I was heartened when Rodney, our doorman, made a big deal out of seeing me arriving home before dark. “It does
my heart good to see you home at a reasonable hour. Most people don’t give any thought to what a cop’s life is
really like. But I’ve seen the way you have to tear out of here at all hours and then stay away even longer. I’m glad
all those kids have such a good father.”
The warmth I got from Rodney’s compliment evaporated as soon as I st epped through the door of our apartment. I
felt as if I’d entered a combat zone. Fiona and Bridget were both yelling at Shawna and Chrissy, and no one was
listening to Mary Catherine. To be honest, the way that Mary Catherine was trying to raise her voice above the
bickering children didn’t seem to be calming the situation in any way. But I’d been in volved in too many of these
arguments to judge anyone’s attempt at ending the conflict.
I said, “What’s this all about?” As soon as I said it, I realized my
mistake. All it did was focus all the yelling toward me. I caught nothing but bits and pieces with a lot of “Dad!” and
“So annoying!”
I raised my hands over my head, the universal signal in our family that everyone needs to be quiet at least for a
moment. It was much more effective than yelling “Shut up!” and certainly less embarrassing in public.
Once silence descended on the room, Mary Catherine pointed at Shawna and Chrissy. “These two need to burn off
some energy. A lot of energy. If you take the two of them for a walk, I’ll clear up the mess here. Sound fair?”
I immediately recognized that whether it was fair or not, that’s what I was going to do. I looked at my two youngest
kids and said, “Where do you two crazed dogs want to go?”
Both of the girls hopped up and down, saying in unison, “Dinosaur!”
Then they started chanting it until it became three s eparate words. “Dine- oh-saur! Dine-oh-saur! Dine-oh-saur!”
In less than five minutes, we were all bundled up in warm outdoor clothes and st epping out onto the sidewalk from
the front door of our building. Our destination had been made clear by the girls: Dinosaur Playground in Riverside
Park. I was a little surprised that my tween girls wanted to go to the playground, but I was all in on the idea. I
intended to wear these two out before we lost all remaining daylight.
It seemed like there were fewer kids out in the park than I remembered from the past and it made me wonder why.
Was it the cold? Winter’s early dark? Parents overscheduling their kids and not allowing playtime? Or i Pad kids
preferring their screens to the swings? Whatever was behind it, I was determined that at least my kids were going to
know the joy of the outdoors and exercise. Whether they wanted to or not, dammit.
I did the standard dad trick of having the girls race each other to the far end of the park, touch a particular tree, then
race back to me. The only thing I had to do was time them on my phone. There was something about watching a kid
run as hard as they could that made me happy. Of course after the first race, I had to tell them my timer on my phone
had malfunctioned. Then I declared Shawna the winner at twenty-two seconds.
On the next run, it was Chrissy at thirty seconds even. Now they were both panting hard and I had them on the
ropes. Nothing like outsmarting a kid.
Then they had one final race, which I declared a statistical tie at thirty-
seven seconds.
We moved on to the playground itself, which had a dinosaur motif. Or at least some modest dinosaur sculptures.
The girls particularly liked the triceratops, but I suspected that was mainly because they could easily identify it.
I couldn’t believe how this was restoring my energy and clearing my head. I was happy to have no thoughts of
bombs or children without mothers. It was getting dark as the girls played on the swings and the little- kids’ slide,
then I finally decided it was time to make our way back to the apartment.
I was holding their hands and swinging both girls around when an older woman walking past us stopped and said to
the girls, “You sure are lucky to have such a fun father. I’m sure he’s nice too.”
Shawna looked at the woman and said, “Well, Dad’s not nice all the time. He’s a cop.”
I had to chuckle at that one.