Stories I Tell My Daughter: The Snowman and the Flower

There's a part of my brain that laments the routines of fatherhood, especially at the end of the day. Dinner at 6:00 p.m. Clear the table. Do the dishes. Brush the kids' teeth. Get them bathed. Into pajamas. Into bed.

We try to mix things up when it comes to the wind down. Sometimes, my daughter Rainbow likes to read her abbreviated Bluey books. Sometimes, she wants to watch just one CoComelon video, which I wish I had the strength to say no to.

But every once in a while, she asks for a Daniel Verastiqui Original™, and even after a long day of work, of mundane chorin', and of unchanging routines, I jump at the chance to tell a story to a captive audience.

I told her to choose a subject while I retrieved her water bottle from the living room, and when I came back, she said she wanted a story about a snowman who wants a flower.

No problem, Rainbow.

The Snowman and The Flower

Note: This story was told live to a drowsy 4-year-old and reconstituted from her aging father's tired brain. A good chunk of it was captured by our nanny cam, but I have made some adjustments for clarity and content.

Note 2: The snowman's accent is that of Robin Williams doing a Cuban accent, while the narration and man in the drive-thru have more of a Sam Elliott feel to them. Please hear the voices in your head accordingly.

Once upon a time, there was a snowman named...

Rainbow: Olaf.

Waldor. And Waldor wanted nothing more in his life than to see a beautiful flower. Where he lived, it was always cold, and flowers never had a chance to grow. Waldor decided that if he was going to see a flower, then he would have to travel somewhere. So he decided he was going to travel to a place with the most beautiful flowers in the world, a wonderful country called...

Rainbow: Orlando.

Switzerland! But Switzerland was all the way on the other side of the world, and Waldor didn't have enough money to buy a plane ticket. Don't drink too much water, Sweetie, or you'll pee the bed. So Waldor decided it was time to get a job.

There weren't many jobs available in Waldor's town, but he was able to find work at the local Chick-fil-A in the drive-thru line. He would stand out there all day in the cold and say things like what can I get you and my absolute pleasure.

One afternoon, a large truck pulled into the drive-thru, and a man in a cowboy hat poked his head out of the window.

Waldor said, "Hi, welcome to Chicken-fil-A, I mean, Chick-fil-A. What can I get started for you?"

"I'd like a chicken fried steak," said the man.

"I'm sorry, we don't have chicken fried steak. We have a Chicken-fil-A sandwich, a Chicken-fil-A sandwich deluxe, eh, the chicken-eh-bites, and macaroni and cheese."

"I don't care about any of that, pardner. I want my chicken fried steak."

"I'm sorry, but if you want a chicken fried steak, you'll have to go to the Chili's."

Waldor pointed to the nearby Chili's, but the man didn't even turn his head.

"Chicken. Fried. Steak. Or let me speak to your manager."

Waldor began to cry. "Please, sir. I need this job. I'm trying to earn enough money to fly to Switzerland to see a flower."

"You're trying to get to Switzerland?" asked the man.

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm. Well, I'll tell you h-what. If'n you go'n git me my chicken fried steak from that there Chili's, I'll make sure you get to Switzerland."

"Actually?" asked Waldor.

The man tipped his large cowboy hat.

"Okay," said Waldor. "Please pull into that spot over there, and I'll go get your chicken fried steak."

He ran to the Chili's to retrieve the food and enjoyed a margarita at the bar while he waited. Outside, snow began to fall, and he wondered if the man in the truck was still waiting for him.

Thankfully, he was still there, and once Waldor delivered the chicken fried steak, the man got out of his truck and kicked Waldor as hard as he could.

The ground fell away as Waldor rose into the cloudy sky, the snow scraping across his frosty cheeks. He flew so high into the air that he passed the International Space Station, and with the sounds of car engines and beeping tablets and people barking their orders fading away, he was overcome by a grand stillness, a quiet so absolute that he wondered if he had passed out of the world as he knew it, out of time and space, into another dimension where there was no eternal winter, where there was nothing at all.

For the first time in his life, he felt at peace.

Then he began to fall, and the faster he fell, the more the heat tore away at his body. But it didn't matter to Waldor. He could see the abundant flower fields of Switzerland below him, and as he pierced the clouds, the wind whistled in his ear, growing like the whine of a tea kettle, until at last he slammed into the earth.

He took a deep breath, and the bouquet that filled his nostrils was unlike anything he had ever smelled before. Not in the flower section at the local grocery store with its faded and wilted petals. Not at a wedding where the floral arrangements loomed in great arcs but smelled of nothing but plastic.

Waldor sat up and looked around. Under the shining sun, he saw rolling hills full of every flower imaginable. Golden tulips. Crimson dandelions. Tall ghost flowers that swayed in the wind. The colors stung his eyes, but he dared not close them.

A blue rose stood nearby, the same color as the softly enameled sky. Waldor plucked it, held it in his hands.

As he melted among the flowers, among the things he loved more than anything on the planet, he thanked the good people of Chicken-fil-A for hiring him, the man in the cowboy hat for kicking him so high, and the Great Creator for letting him hold a flower for the first time and the last time.

The end.

Rainbow: *sigh* So tired.