Summer always insists on saying goodbye to me twice every morning.
First, she’ll kiss me first and say, “Papa, you go to office,” as if she’s the one who determines how each member of the family is to spend the day. After waving her hand in a “bye-bye” fashion, she’ll turn around and climb onto the compressed-board Ikea coffee table positioned by the window. Sticking her head out into the condo corridor, she’ll wait for me until I’m passing by on my way to the car.
One more kiss through the window.
I guess it’s more than two goodbyes though, because she’ll actually stay at the window watching me walk away until I either get into the elevator or go down the steps to the third floor. She’s waving the whole time. “Bye, Papa. Bye!”
Many people say “I don’t like goodbyes.” Me? I kinda do.