OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

one-hundred-six.

SEPTEMBER 8th, 1997, LOS ANGELES, CA

"LET'S GO OVER it one more time. Gracie, if someone tells you that they know Mommy and Daddy and they've been sent to pick you up, what do you say?"

Reagan bit her tongue in an effort not to let out an exasperated sigh. It was the fourth time that morning that Dave was going over his stringent safety policy with their five-year-old.

Gracie stood proudly on the sidewalk outside of her new school, a place that had been specifically selected by Reagan and Dave for their prioritization of safety amongst celebrity children. If the likes of Meg Ryan and Demi Moore were sending their kids there, it was more than good enough for Reagan.

"Say, 'I don't know you!' and kick them in their knees," Gracie recited. She beamed up at Dave and Reagan shot him a look.

"'Kick them in their knees?'" Reagan parroted in disbelief.

"Just be happy she said knees and not the initial body part I suggested," Dave muttered.

He crouched down to Gracie's height, adjusting the straps of her backpack that looked twice as big as she did hanging on her tiny frame.

"You're ready, Peanut," he said seriously.

Together, he and Reagan walked Gracie into school and guided her to her classroom. Inside, they met her teacher for a second time and observed as Gracie happily tucked her backpack into her personal cubby. She wasted no time scurrying off to the nearest table, plopping down in front of a set of crayons.

Reagan kept up conversation with Gracie's teacher as Dave quietly slunk away. As he sat down at the table Gracie had selected, cramming himself into the pint-sized plastic seat beside her, Reagan wished that she hadn't left their camera at home.

"Looks like Dad is going to have a hard time saying goodbye this morning," Gracie's teacher teased.

"And here I thought it would be me," Reagan confessed.

She walked over to where they sat, approaching as Dave helped Gracie shade in the picture she'd started on. She was babbling about the conceptual idea behind her artwork and Dave nodded along, listening with rapt attention.

"So," Reagan began, placing a hand on her hip. "Whose actual first day of kindergarten is it?"

Dave looked up at her with round eyes. "What?" he asked hotly. "She asked for my opinion."

"Yes, because you're such a connoisseur of coloring in the lines," Reagan grinned.

Dave ignored her and turned back to Gracie, setting down the red crayon he'd been holding.

"G?" he asked carefully. "You okay?"

Gracie didn't look up from her coloring sheet. "Yes Daddy," she said. "I'm busy."

"I think she's busy," Reagan stage-whispered.

Dave stood up slowly without taking his eyes off of Gracie. He crammed his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Do we . . . do we just leave her?" he asked Reagan quietly.

"I think that's the general idea," Reagan said, softening her reply with understanding. She touched Dave's arm.

"Bye Mommy, bye Daddy," Gracie chirped. "See you later!"

It was borderline humorous to hear such a casual goodbye coming from Gracie's mouth. It reminded Reagan of the way Dave chose to say his goodbyes to his daughter before every tour, sweeping her up in his arms and nuzzling her cheek to his as he promised that her would 'see her later.' It was never goodbye, he said. Always see you later.