Welcome to Fatherhood Friday. A gathering of cool dads and moms sharing the joys, pains, and love of their lives as parents. For more great reads, stop by Dad-Blogs and take a look around.
There was once upon a time when I used to scoop up my baby girl in my arms, plant sloppy wet kisses on her, and hold her close to me. In return, she would laugh and giggle as though she was on an amusement park ride. She would return my kisses with drool from her toothless mouth and, for squeezing her too tightly, she would leave me with a poopy diaper.
Then The Boy was born, kicking in the doors of this world as if to say, “Look out, Life! I’m here”. I would show him the same affection as I showed his sister. Playing catch with him (at that age, he was the ball) by tossing him up listening to him squeal and leaving me with a little regurgitated baby formula on my shoulder for good measure.
As soon as they each could understand, I would tell them things like, “You are my favorite daughter,” or ,”Did you know that you are my favorite son?” Each of their little eyes would light up knowing that they were special. They were Daddy’s favorite.
This was great for me. I was able to express tenderly to my kids what they mean to me and get one of them to grab a soda for me or something. It was a win-win for all involved.
Then one day, something happened…
They got older… and wiser. Adi always told me it wouldn’t last
So there I was one day with Bae. She was maybe 9 or so at the time. I may have been thirsty or wanted some Doritos or something when I called my little angel over to me, looked in her beautiful brown eyes and said, “You’re my favorite daughter. I love you. Now bring Daddy some queso with those Doritos, please.” Then, with one statement from her, I knew the jig was up…
“Daddy. I’m your only daughter. How can I be your favorite?”
I started to tell her I had more kids living across town, but I refrained.
(Just kidding! C’mon, just a little jokey-joke. I know I’m going to catch a pillow upside my head when my wife reads that last line. Ouch!)
I smiled at my pumpkin and said to her, “That’s why you’re my favorite one.”
A short time later, she ratted me out to The Boy.
Busted. Game over. I got the “Silly-Rabbit-Trix-are-for-kids” look from my offspring.
As usual, Adi was right. Behind every good man is a smart woman letting him be the first one called out by the kids.
What are the Mr. Man Morals of the story?
- Keep your Doritos close and your queso even closer.
- Kids are smarter than they look.
- A good woman has your back because she doesn’t wan’t to catch the crap first.