TO KEEP EVERYBODY SAFE

To Keep Everybody Safe

Six-year-old Daniel is in his awesome solar system bedroom, decorated by Mom with soft foam toy planets, a rocket to the moon comforter, and glow-in-the-dark stars. He picks up his iPad and taps the music note icon. He scrolls down until he hears Rihanna singing about an umbrella. Daniel loves Rihanna to the Andromeda Galaxy and back. He sings along, in his nicest children's choir voice. Daniel's feet, wearing their lucky red and white checkered flip-flops, start moving. They dance across the room, bringing Daniel to his closet door. He opens it.

Daniel's feet stop dancing for a bit as he drags his desk chair over to his closet. He stands on the chair. Pushing up on his tippy toes, Daniel reaches in. He stretches, making his arms super long, and pulls his purple tutu from its top-secret hiding place. On the highest shelf. Pushed to the back. Wrapped in a fluffy, light blue blanket.

Leaving the blanket on the shelf and holding the tutu, Daniel hops down. Still singing with Rihanna, he pulls on the tutu. Down over his head. Past his shoulders. Over his lemon monster truck t-shirt. Over the top of his orange board shorts. Onto his waist.

Daniel looks in the full-length mirror Mom bought on sale and Dad hung on the back of the bedroom door. Daniel's whole body is smiling. He curtsies to himself in the mirror. The tutu is not too big. The tutu is not too small. The tutu is just right.

It's an extra hot Sunday in Miami. The air conditioning's on full blast. Mom and Dad are having a private, grownups-only conversation in the apartment's living room. Daniel can hear everything.

Dad complains, "The air conditioning bill's gonna take my whole celery!"

Grownups' jobs pay them money. They call it their "celery." Daniel doesn't like the other celery, the eating kind.

Mom says, "It'll be fine. Between you and my mother, I don't know who is more likely to raise my blood pressure."

"Your mother, definitely."

Mom's mother is Grandma who says days like today are hotter than a cat on a tin roof. Daniel's an only child with no pets. He wants a cat. A cat who follows the rules. It's against the rules for anybody, including cats, to go up to the roof.

Rules are important. Laws, which are ginormous rules, are also important. Grownups make rules and laws for a reason. To keep everybody safe.

Two months ago, Mom made the purple tutu rule. For date night, Mom and Dad went to a restaurant that didn't have crayons. They dropped off Daniel first, at Grandma's apartment.

Grandma and Daniel ate pizza and drank lemonade on the squishy sofa while watching ballet dancers on TV. The dancers were dressed up as fancy birds, called swans, and wore tutus. A monster tried to kidnap the fanciest swan, but she jumped into the lake with some guy, maybe a prince. The monster died.

Daniel leaned in close and whispered in Grandma's ear, "I want a swan tutu. A purple one."

Grandma whispered back, "I've got everything I need to sew you a purple tutu right now. But why are we whispering?"

Daniel didn't know why.

Daniel thought about it. "Maybe my head is worried people will say mean things if I wear a tutu?"

"What people? Why would they say mean things?" Grandma asked.

"Maybe people at school? Like, they might say only girls wear tutus."

"Saying tutus are only for girls is silly. Tutus are for everybody who likes them. Just like all costumes and clothing. Anybody who says mean things when you wear your tutu is not being kind. You tell your parents or your teacher if anybody says mean things."