“So today, Dad has only us?”
Yoonho glanced back from the driver’s seat. In the rearview mirror, two little heads sat close together. Yuna was on the left, her hair tied into two pigtails, while Yerin was busy straightening a shoelace that didn’t actually need straightening.
“Isn’t that why we’re going out?” Yoonho asked.
Yuna beamed. “So this is a date?”
“A date.”
“Like you and Mom used to have?”
Yoonho chuckled. “Not exactly.”
“Why not?”
“Because Mom and Dad never went out with two kids fighting over where to eat.”
Yerin immediately cut in from the back seat. “I wasn’t fighting.”
“You said you wanted pasta.”
“So?”
“Yuna wanted chicken.”
“So?”
“So the two of you were arguing.”
“It was a discussion,” Yerin said firmly.
Yoonho nodded. “All right. A very loud discussion.” Their laughter filled the car.
They eventually stopped at a small restaurant that served pasta, roasted chicken, and all kinds of desserts. Yoonho let his twin daughters choose for themselves. He only ordered coffee and sat watching them busily decide what to eat.
“Why didn’t you order any food, Dad?” Yuna asked.
“I already had breakfast.” “Then you’re not allowed to take any of mine.”
“I won’t.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Yerin pointed at her dad with her fork. “Dad, you’re lying. Yesterday you said you didn’t want my potatoes.”
“Because you were already full.”
“But you still took some.”
“That’s called saving the potatoes.”
Both girls burst out laughing.
Once the food arrived, their conversation jumped from topic to topic. School. Their math teacher. Yuna’s friend who cried after losing her eraser. Yerin getting a good grade but forgetting to bring her test paper home.
Until Yuna suddenly stopped chewing.
“Dad.”
“Hmm?”
“When we’re grown up, we’ll be allowed to choose for ourselves, right?”
Yoonho set down his fork.
“Choose what?”
“Everything.”
The question brought a small smile to his face.
“A lot of things.”
“What if we want to become something Mom and Dad don’t like?”
Yerin turned to look at him too.
Yoonho wiped his lips with a napkin. He looked from one daughter to the other.
“I might be sad.”
Yuna frowned.
“But we’ll still be allowed to?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the ones who have to live your lives.”
Yerin lowered her head, her fingers playing with the edge of her napkin.
“But what if we make the wrong choice?”
Yoonho smiled. “Do you think Dad always makes the right choice?”
Both girls immediately shook their heads.
“No.”
“Why say that?”
“Because you once chose an ugly outfit.”
Yoonho held back a laugh. “That wasn’t a major decision.” “But it was still wrong.”
“All right. Dad has been wrong before.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“Adults can be wrong too. Sometimes we don’t realize a choice was wrong until we’ve lived through it. But that doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to choose again.”
Yuna gazed at him for a long moment.
“So, Dad, have you ever made the wrong choice?”
The question left Yoonho silent for a moment. There were plenty of answers he could have given. His career. His friends. The decisions he’d made when he was young. Things he’d once thought were important, only to realize they weren’t. But he only nodded.
“I have.”
“Did Mom get mad?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I apologized.”
Yerin giggled. “Do you apologize a lot, Dad?”
“More often than you think.”
“Why?”
“Because the older I get, the more I realize that winning an argument doesn’t always mean I’m right.”
The two girls fell silent.
Yoonho picked up his glass of water. “Sometimes people just want to be heard. If we’re too busy proving that we’re right, we forget to listen.”
Yuna nodded slowly, as if trying to commit his words to memory.
“So if I get into a fight with Yerin...”
“You two aren’t fighting.”
“We’re discussing,” Yerin corrected.
“All right. If you’re discussing,” Yoonho said, holding back a smile, “try listening first before you answer.”
Yuna glanced at her twin.
“Yerin doesn’t listen very often.” “You don’t either.”
“I do it more often.”
“That’s not something to be proud of.”
Yoonho finally laughed.
After they ate, they walked to a bookstore. Yuna held his right hand, while Yerin took his left.
As they walked, Yuna suddenly asked,
“Dad.”
“Hmm?”
“When we’re grown up, will you still go on dates with us?”
Yoonho turned to her. “If you still want me to take you.”
“We will.”
“What if you’re in college?”
“We will.”
“What if you have jobs?”
“We will.”
“What if you’re married?”
They both fell silent.
Then Yerin answered softly.
“Still.”
Yoonho smiled. “Then Dad will still want to, too.”
They kept walking.
Yoonho’s steps felt a little slower. Not because his legs were tired, but because the feeling of those two little hands holding his was something he wanted to keep for as long as possible.
In a few more years, those hands would probably be bigger. Maybe they wouldn’t fight over what to eat anymore. A simple date like today’s might even embarrass them.
But Yoonho knew one thing. Children don’t stay little forever. And a father’s job isn’t to make them stay. It’s to make sure that when they finally leave, they know home will always have a door open for them to come back through.
Yuna looked up at him. “Why are you smiling to yourself, Dad?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Are you sad?”
Yoonho shook his head.
“No. Dad’s just happy.”
“Because it’s a date?”
“Because you wanted to walk with Dad.”
Yerin squeezed his hand tighter. “Another date tomorrow?”
Yoonho laughed.
“Tomorrow, Dad has to ask Mom first.”
Two little voices immediately chimed in. “Don’t!”
“Why not?”
“Then Mom will come too!”
And for the first time that afternoon, Yoonho laughed louder than ever.