Between the blur of the legislative session, election coverage and the daily sprint to keep up with Idaho education news, this dad blog has taken a backseat. 

Not for lack of material — the spills, feuds, scraped knees and endless events take care of that — but because I can’t force it. The right blog also requires the right dad moment.

And the right dad moment walked straight into my office Thursday — unprompted, unusually focused — and reminded me it was kindergarten orientation day.

Serious business. 

She looked ready. More than ready. Pink backpack, lipstick, mascara — all of which, my wife told me, the little thing had put on all by herself. 

And she had the right attitude — almost.

“Why do I have to have a principal?” she asked, a few questions into our short Q&A ahead of our drive to the school.  

The concept was foreign to her. Her gem of a preschool teacher, Ms. Penny, doesn’t have a principal. And who knows what her middle school sisters have told her about principals. 

They’re nice, I assured her. Besides, she’d still spend almost all of her day with her teacher. 

But fear doesn’t deal in facts, especially when you’re five and imagining a whole new world. She looked skeptical. Then I remembered that her principal, a veteran educator and family friend who’s about as kid-friendly as they come, recently posted a video reminding families about orientation day on the school’s Facebook page. 

It was the perfect video for a 5-year-old who’s nervous about meeting her principal — or so I thought.

I pulled out my phone and there he was — front and center — literally cartwheeling into frame at the school’s front doors and rolling out a red carpet for an incoming kindergartener.

She studied the screen.

“Does he look scary?” I asked.

Convinced? Maybe. Completely sold? Hardly.

But at the school, things turned on their own.

The secretary leading tours was another family friend. Win. 

She got the full tour — cafeteria, library, playground, office — and met her teacher, who handed her a sucker. Double win.

She also met — wait for it — the principal, who greeted us before we left. 

I thanked him for the video.  

“Well, we almost forgot,” he said nodding to his secretary, who retrieved a roll of red carpet.

And just like that, they gave our daughter the royal treatment — her very own kindergarten entrance.

It was a small gesture, but not really.

Whatever was on her face as she walked through the doors wasn’t fear. Maybe a hint of excitement. Maybe a little pride.

On the drive home, she summed it up better than I could: “He’s nice.”