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My daughter’s eyes grew wide and she held her hand to her face.

“Cuh’mere, Dad!” she gestured.  “Come read what this says!”

I raised an eyebrow.

My husband ducked under the park’s play toy and followed our daughter to the scrawl written on the wooden boards.  He shook his head, then sat down again beside me.

“What?” I asked.

My husband shrugged and laughed.  “You’ll just have to read it yourself.”

I stumbled through the wood chips to the place my daughter pointed.  In silver pen it read, “touch the penis.”

I followed the silver arrow to the anatomical sketch.

And then I laughed.

I laughed for the absurdity of the “p” word on the play toy… and for the fact that I still can’t say the “p” word without hiding my face.  I laughed for my daughter who needed to know she wasn’t in trouble.  And I laughed for the future–so she’d know she was safe in telling mommy and daddy when something’s not right.

I laughed…because…

it seemed the only healthy thing to do.

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One Response to “When “P” Ain’t for Playground”

  1. Sarah says:

    STILL laughing

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