“Blue One”
“Red One”
That’s the kind of crap I’ve been hearing bellowing from my daughter’s mouth just seconds before she unleashes her tiny, knuckle-clad fist towards my old-man arms, legs, calf, back, or whatever is closest to her fury.
And it always happens when I’m in the middle of something and absolutely oblivious to what’s about to go down.
So the first time it happened I was cooking in the kitchen. Next thing I know I hear, “red one!” and WHAM!!! I feel something akin to a shot in the side of my upper hamstring.
“Ooooh…Macy…what are you doing?!!” I yell.
“Blue one!” she yelled as she slammed her right fist into my hip.
That’s when I realized she was reenacting the Volkswagen commercials! In my kitchen!!
Our kitchen only has two windows, neither of which over-look any street that might carry anything that could possibly even resemble a motor-vehicle. She was totally ripping off marketing genius to kick the ever living hell out of me.
My first reaction? Scream, “green one” and drop her to her knees.
But then, I remembered she’s my daughter…not my brother.
How could I get mad at her? She was victim to a catchy commercial that promotes pounding on someone because you saw a car drive by.
That’s like getting mad a Corona for its commercials showing the wife spraying lime juice in her husband’s eyes for watching a group of sexy ladies in bikinis walk by as he vacations.
I could never get mad at such a delicious frosty beverage. (Pppppssssttt…Corona….step over here…email me at whyisdaddycrying(at)gmail(dot)com to advertise yo!!).
Maybe I should be upset at myself for letting her watch a volume of TV that would result in her memorizing certain commercials. Or for forgetting to put my clothes in the drier last night so that could wear that sexy Hawaiian shirt with the hula girl on the front that I just know everyone loves to see me in.
Regardless…my precious angel was just doing what kids do – act as a sponge, soaking up every bit of information surrounding her, most of which without even realizing it.
Understanding that I kindly patted her on her head, bent down to her eye-level and said, “Macy…I love you baby. I understand you saw that on TV and are just repeating it. But it’s not OK to hit, OK baby?”
“OK daddy.”
Proud of myself I stood back up and watched her walk away. I’d knocked another killer parenting moment right out of the…
“Brown one!” and the feeling of a mini hammer coming down on my left quadricep almost dropped me to my knees as I noticed my son standing beside me.
