I swear, I was only gone long enough to make a sandwich. Maybe not even that. I came back from the kitchen with a turkey wrap and a sparkling water, and I heard my dad call out, “Hey, we had a little situation!”
That should’ve been my first red flag.
I walked toward the hallway and there they were—Dad holding Mike out in front of him like a soggy beach towel. Except Mike wasn’t wet. He was blue. Head to toe. Blue stomach, blue legs, blue ears, even little blue fingerprints on his diaper.
Apparently, Dad thought it’d be “fun” to let Mike play with a few markers while they sat on the porch. Not crayons. Not those washable toddler ones. Actual permanent markers from his garage tool drawer. I asked why he even had those out, and he shrugged and said, “He was coloring the doghouse! I turned my back for one second!”
But then I saw the look on my dad’s face—the kind of look that a person wears when they realize they’ve made a mistake, but the damage is already done. My heart dropped into my stomach.
“Dad, why would you let him play with permanent markers?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but I could feel the panic creeping up in my chest.
“I thought they were just the regular kind,” he mumbled, his voice small, which was unusual for my dad. He was usually the confident one, the one who always had the answer, the one who never looked worried. But this time, he seemed genuinely upset, more than I’d ever seen him before.
I took Mike from his arms, feeling his little body stiffen as I held him close. He didn’t cry, but he looked bewildered, like he couldn’t figure out what had happened to him either.
“Mike? Buddy, what happened?” I whispered, smoothing a hand over his head, but there was no explanation from him—just a dazed look and his little hands pressed firmly against his chest, as though trying to understand the strange new world of color he was seeing.
I took a deep breath and turned to my dad. “Okay, we need to get this fixed. Let’s figure this out.”
Dad looked like he was on the verge of tears, and I felt a tug at my heart. I knew he hadn’t meant for this to happen. I also knew that Mike had been perfectly fine before this, and that made it even more unnerving. Permanent marker was meant for paper, not for skin.
I rushed inside to the bathroom, Mike still in my arms, and tried to calm him down as best as I could. My mind raced through the possibilities—what if this stuff was toxic? What if it didn’t come off? What if I had to take him to the doctor? The more I thought about it, the worse it seemed.
I grabbed the baby wipes and started trying to gently wipe the marker off his skin, but it wasn’t budging. The blue stains were stubborn, like they had settled into his pores, and all I could do was rub harder, hoping that some miracle solution would appear. Mike wasn’t fussing, but he looked confused and uncomfortable.
“I’m so sorry,” my dad called from the other room, his voice cracking. I could hear him shuffling around, likely searching through the house for something to fix his mistake.
“It’s not your fault, Dad,” I said, even though I was frustrated. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t entirely his fault. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. It was just an oversight, a lapse in judgment. A mistake that felt huge because it involved my son.
After trying everything I could think of, including scrubbing with dish soap, rubbing alcohol, and even some baby oil, I realized that I was just making it worse. The blue stains weren’t going anywhere, and I felt more and more helpless with each passing minute.
“Maybe we should take him to the pediatrician,” I finally said, my voice breaking as I turned to Dad, who had been standing there watching helplessly.
“No, no,” Dad said quickly. “I’ll fix this. I have an idea.”
I was about to protest when Dad disappeared into the garage, his footsteps quickly fading. He returned a few minutes later with an odd smile on his face, holding something in his hand. “Here,” he said, offering me a small jar of what looked like… Vaseline.
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to do?”
“It’ll take the stain off,” he said with more confidence than I had expected. “It’s an old trick. Works for ink stains and marker. Just trust me.”
I looked at him skeptically but decided I had nothing to lose at this point. I gently applied the Vaseline to the marks on Mike’s skin, and to my surprise, it worked. Slowly but surely, the blue started to lift. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely better.
By the time I had gotten most of the stains off, Mike was almost back to his normal self, looking less like a little Smurf and more like the bright-eyed toddler I knew and loved. The smile on his face, despite the weirdness of the whole situation, was a huge relief.
Dad stood back, watching with a soft look on his face. “I’m glad it worked,” he said quietly.
“I’m glad it worked too,” I said, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
But I wasn’t done. There was still a part of me that felt unsettled. I looked over at my dad, who was now sitting down, his shoulders slumped. “Dad, what were you thinking?” I asked, my voice softer now. “You can’t just hand a toddler permanent markers and turn your back. I’m not mad at you, but you have to be more careful. I trust you with Mike, but I need to know you’re thinking through these things.”
He nodded solemnly, his face filled with regret. “I know. I don’t have an excuse. I just thought… I thought it would be funny. I’ve been so caught up in my own life lately that I didn’t realize what I was doing. And I didn’t want you to have to deal with it. I thought it was harmless fun.”
I paused for a moment, looking at my dad. The man I had always thought of as indestructible, the one who had taught me to ride a bike and fix a broken fence, was sitting here, admitting his mistake. It hit me then—he was human, just like everyone else. And sometimes, even the most well-meaning people can make mistakes.
“I get it,” I said, giving him a small smile. “But next time, no markers. And no leaving him alone with anything I haven’t approved first, okay?”
Dad chuckled softly, nodding. “Deal. I’m just glad I didn’t make things worse.”
The rest of the day went by smoothly. Mike, despite his brief blue transformation, was his usual, energetic self. I couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly he bounced back. And, surprisingly, the whole ordeal had brought me closer to my dad. Seeing him take responsibility and genuinely feel remorse for his mistake helped me realize something important: we all make mistakes, but owning up to them is what really matters.
Later that evening, as I put Mike to bed, I thought about the lesson I had learned: that life can throw unexpected situations at us, and we don’t always have control over what happens. But what we do with those situations—that’s where we get to decide. We can either let them define us or use them as an opportunity to grow. And the most important thing? A little bit of forgiveness goes a long way.
Sometimes, it’s not about having a perfect outcome—it’s about the effort, the heart, and the willingness to learn from our mistakes. My dad had made a mistake, sure. But we both learned something valuable from it. And that made all the difference.
So, if you’re reading this and you’re dealing with something similar—whether it’s a mistake you’ve made or one that’s been made by someone you care about—remember that mistakes don’t define us. It’s how we handle them that shapes who we become.
Please share this story with someone who needs to hear it. We’re all in this together, learning and growing every day.
