After helping with enough school projects to qualify for a concealed glue gun license, I’ve found that what should be an opportunity for some father-daughter bonding usually ends up with someone getting their feelings hurt and crying – and it’s not always me.Īnother challenge I face is trying to determine how much “help” to offer on a school project versus how much to risk having one of my daughters injure herself or, more importantly, the sheetrock. When our daughters first started school, I made an arrangement with my wife that I would assist with all of the projects if she would handle anything related to the evils of mathematics. One ordeal that all parents are destined to endure at some point is the dreaded school project – specifically designed by educators to exact revenge upon parents who actually believe that their child is “a joy to teach.” Raising three daughters has come with many delights, challenges, prayers and moments standing in that certain aisle at Target trying to figure out the differences between “ultra,” “Infinity FlexFoam,” “overnight,” “sport,” “wings,” “Radiant,” and “Just ask your wife, you goober.”
