There I was, 30,000 feet in the air, when my 12-year-old dropped a bombshell: “Dad, I think I just got my period.” Welcome to fatherhood’s next-level initiation. I handed her a pad from my go-bag (because yes, I pack those now) and watched her disappear into the airplane bathroom.
When the flight attendant summoned me, I knew it wasn’t good. Through the bathroom door, Talia’s voice cracked: “There’s…a stain.” Cue Operation Hoodie Cover-Up. As we navigated the walk of shame back to our seats, a grandmotherly passenger gave me an approving nod that said, “You’re doing alright, kid.”
Our destination? My cousin’s wedding. After a quick detour for emergency jeans at Target—where we turned the whole ordeal into a hilarious story—we thought we’d survived the worst. Then came Morning-Of Disaster #2: the bridesmaid dress was still hanging at home where I’d left it after steaming.
What followed was a scene straight from a rom-com montage—racing through department stores, rejecting frilly monstrosities, until we found “the one” in a tiny shop. Seeing Talia’s face light up in that off-white dress made every stressful minute worth it.
The wedding itself brought unexpected moments. My cousin’s heartfelt toast about “showing up” hit harder than I expected. Then a woman approached me with tears in her eyes—our ordinary day had reminded her of her late father.
As Talia fell asleep that night, she murmured something that stuck with me: “Best weekend ever.” Not despite the chaos—because of it. Because we faced every messy, imperfect moment together.
