If you’ve ever walked into a building and seen a fancy plaque on the wall commemorating or congratulating or conflating something or someone special, you’ll know that there must have been a long (and likely almost boring) ceremony that went with it. You know, one of those ceremonies where an abnormally large pair of scissors is involved with a ribbon, and everybody who makes a speech at the podium is required to stand in the same sideways turn while shaking hands for the cameras.
Well at some of those ceremonies stands a kid in the audience who politely listens, claps at the right time, and knows not to whine, “When do we get to eat cake?” That kid today was my Girl. In fact, I had almost forgotten about the grand opening of the new Humane Society headquarters in our area. But she had remembered, because as some of you know, she fundraises for this cause that is dear to her heart. And she asked ever-so-politely if we could drive there in time to make it for the ceremony (which, as is expected of these things, didn’t start on time). And she accepted politely when adults smiled down on her and kindly pushed her to the front for a better view. And she admitted that she appropriately got teary-eyed when the part of the speech dwelled on the fire that had taken place two years before and extinguished the life of 150 pets.
Even when she wasn’t awarded with a slice of cake (we decided not to fight the crowd and hang around afterwards) or a new kitten, my Girl felt that it was important enough to be there for her cause, and stand through all the politicians’ speeches, handshaking, and pomp and pageantry.