Dads hold special places in the hearts of their children, or so I like to believe. Being the disciplinarian in our family, I understand why my “eldest” typically prefers mom, over dad, for most playtime activities, and generally for anything else whenever we are both around. Which I’m fine with. I grew up an only child for the most part, so my imagination skills are somewhat lacking (when I was a kid, my idea of “fun” by myself was putting on old 45 records of “Jerry Clower” and reciting the jokes along with him); plus I get restless sitting on the floor moving little Thomas the Tank Engine wooden trains around the tracks for an hour. Call me crazy.
Last night was not unlike any other night. I cooked dinner (breakfast food, yum!) and my wife and I sat down with the baby at the table and my eldest son, who hasn’t pooped in like 4 days, decided he didn’t care to join us, yet again. I, attempting to bring back the “family” in “family dinner” told my son to come to the table and sit with us even if he didn’t want to eat–“Dammit!” (OK, I didn’t actually say the word, but my tone pretty much did)
Eldest Son, “NO! I want you to go to work.”
Whaddya gonna do? I finally got him to the table under threat of both a spanking (Gasp! Yes, folks, I DO spank my children), and at the risk of his losing a happy face, which means that getting that new train he’s been wanting has to wait yet another day until some random point in the future.
After dinner, I went out to water plants. My wife comes out the door, then my son and she says, “What were you going to tell daddy?”
Son: “I’m sowwy daddy for huwting yow feewings.”
How can you stay mad at that? I know, I know, SUCKER!
Guilty as charged.