Encore

Sometimes the best surprises are the ones we see coming. John Philip Sousa knew as much: as Paul Bierley points out in his book on the composer's band, Sousa used to have a percussionist hold up title cards that identified the songs played in encores. The result, apparently, was widely enjoyed: a critic in Australia, for instance, applauded the way in which Sousa's band stayed onstage, instead of milking the applause, and the sensibility with which the encore was labeled. Sure, an encore is a special treat, but it's one that Sousa's fans had come to expect. Why pretend, then, otherwise?

And so I shouldn't have been surprised, perhaps, when Cleo made a special request on the way north from school yesterday. A few months ago, in the dark days of winter, I had once brought her a mammoth two-dollar chocolate cookie, as a ridiculous after-school snack. (I ended up inheriting, by the way, most of it: being a dad is a constant education in some of the virtues of trickle-down economics). That moment, though, has stuck with Cleo, and so after riding quietly for a few moments yesterday, she said, "Dad, did you bring me a special surprise, which is a chocolate chip cookie?"

I smiled at the specificity with which she described the surprise, and then launched into a muddle series of hems and haws. (One-time thing; that's what makes it special; maybe some other time...). Only to hear her say, in turn, "I wanted a big one. You keep that in mind."

Will do, Yellowbird. And maybe,if indeed it happens, we'll hold up a sign, in the background, identifying the cookie by type.