It was genius. And the best part about it was that the more well-heeled and bejeweled grandparents had a tendency to get a little bit competitive. One set of grandparents even donated a chic barn-like addition to the school that served as meeting space, gym, theater, concert hall, indoor playground and fitness court, large art project room, and occasional teacher hideout area. The massive brass plaque just inside the door proclaimed it the Jebediah J. Jones IV and Dr. Aubrey C. Jacobs Family Gateway to Excellence Barn. Everybody else called it the all-purpose room.

The sad part about Grandparents Day was that not every child could produce a grandparent. In each classroom, year in and year out, at least one grandparent-less child dissolved into a puddle of tears by the time early dismissal rolled around.

The other teachers and I had brought up this issue at multiple staff meetings over the years. Kate Stone waved our worries away, visions of potential donations flashing before her eyes.

When pressed, our bitch of a boss would say, “Step out of the box and use your creativity. Turn the day into a lesson in sharing. The students who have grandparents can simply share them with the others.”

Spoken like an administrator who had forgotten her own teaching days. Sharing the crayons was enough of a challenge for preschoolers, especially the day before a holiday when excitement was high and self-control was slim to none.

So this year I’d decided to bring in a ringer, a stand-in grandparent to pass around—my dad. The best thing about this idea was that my father was free on the morning before Thanksgiving. The worst thing about it was that a lifetime of experience had taught me only too well that pretty much anything could happen, and often did, when my father was involved.

The thing about your family is that you never quite stop hoping you can change them into the people you’d prefer them to be.

I wasn’t taking any chances, so my plan was to make my father ride to school with me this morning. “Hurry up,” I yelled up the staircase. “My boss has zero sense of humor when the preschoolers get to school before the teachers.”

Polly passed through the kitchen and gave me a thumbs up on the way out the door, reassuring me that at least one of us would get there before the kids.

My father thudded down the stairs wearing a pink Bark & Roll Forever T-shirt and carrying a handful of business cards with little dog treats tied to them with ribbons. When he wasn’t letting his middle daughter drag him to school, my dad drove a pink ice cream truck and passed out the cards for the three women who owned the Bark & Roll Forever dog and cat sitting and boarding business.