When Robert called Jefferson Elementary, put on his calmest “concerned community member” voice, and explained the situation, they hid behind every excuse they could find.
“We can’t just allow strangers into a children’s event.”
“It’s a liability issue.”
“It violates policy.”
“Background checks,” Robert said. “Every man who comes will have one. You can run them yourself. We’ll give you the list.”
“That’s not the point—”
“Then what is the point?” he asked, still polite. “Because from where I’m standing, the point seems to be keeping girls without dads away from their friends to preserve… what? A tradition?”
Silence.
Finally, he sighed.
“Look,” he said. “You have two choices. You let these girls attend with vetted escorts. Or we contact every news station in the state and let them talk about how Jefferson Elementary excludes fatherless children from school events. Your call.”
I’m pretty sure you can hear the sound of self-preservation even over a phone line.
They caved.
With conditions, of course.
Signed forms. Extra security. A list of names.
Fair enough.
We jump through the hoops for our kids.
The Friday of the dance, I ironed Sita’s pink dress twice.