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Entries in middle finger (2)


F-You Daddy!

The wifey and I have had a long-time agreement that when it comes to things like making the kids’ lunches for school, putting them to bed, giving them baths, cleaning their puke off the ceilings, etc…we take turns. And it’s a beautiful thing, this agreement is. Only catch is, the boy loves to have me lay in bed with him and talk once the lights are turned out. So, while I never get a night off, the flip side is that I’ve built an incredible level of trust with him.

In fact, I’ve kind of become his shrink. He lays there, bares his soul, then looks to me for advice. And while I may or may not be the most top-notch guy on the planet to ask for advice from, I feel I still do a stand-up job.

Here are just a few of the conversations to date. (Please note names of the boy’s friends have been changed to those of famous people as not to identify anyone):

The Naked Lady

Boy: “Daddy…R. Kelly has a picture of a naked woman in his room.”

Me: “A naked woman? Really? Did you see it? Does she look good?”

Boy: “Yes I saw it.”

Me: “Well where does he keep it?”

Boy: “Behind a poster.”

Me: “Wow…well Grayson, you and R. Kelly are a bit too young to be looking at pictures like that and looking at women in that way.”

Boy: “I know daddy.”

Me: “If that happens again I want you to bring the picture to daddy immediately, OK?”

Boy: “I will daddy.”


She’s Mine…No She’s Mine!

Boy: “Daddy…Matt Damon and Ben Affleck fight every day on the playground over Fergie and I really don’t like it. They’re both in love with her.”

Me: “What do you mean ‘fight?’ Like throwing fists and hitting each other and stuff?”

Boy: “They grab each other and try to throw each other to the ground. Whoever hits the ground first loses.”

Me: “And then what, the winner scoops Fergie up and carries her off into the sunset?”

Boy: “No…the winner is Fergie’s boyfriend.”

Me: “Does Fergie know this?”

Boy: “No. But they fight all the time and are always telling her they love her and she keeps saying she doesn’t love either of them.”

Me: “Do you like Fergie?”

Boy: “Yes.”

Me: “Here’s what you do. Never tell her you love her because you don’t, you’re too young to even be talking about love. Treat her like you would any other of your friends. Go play with her, get to know her, and let her get to know you.”

Three Days Later…

Me: “So are Matt Damon and Ben Affleck still fighting over Fergie?

Boy: “Yes, but daddy…I ignore it and have been playing with Fergie and her friends for the past couple of days. And we’re friends and have made up a bunch of games together.”

Me: “Atta dude…”…and a manly man tear slides down my cheek.


F-You Daddy!!

Boy: “Daddy…I know how to stick up my middle finger.”

Me: “You what?!”

Boy:Gary Busey taught me how to stick up my middle finger—see!”

Me: “Whoa…dude. Put that thing away. Do you know what that means?”

Boy: “No, but it’s such a huge finger and everyone laughs when I do it.”

Me: “You know the ‘f-word’ that you’ve talked about hearing before?”

Boy: “Yeah. Oh, daddy? That word is written on the table next to my keyboard in computer class.”

Me: “Wow…well, anyway, sticking your middle finger up is like saying the ‘f-word’ to someone. It’s not good Grayson. Don’t ever, EVER do that again. The school will send you home and mommy will cry.”

Boy: “She doesn’t cry when you do it.”

Me: “That’s different. When I do it to mommy it means ‘I love you.’”

Two seconds later the boy flipped me off and said “I love you daddy!” All I could do was give him a hug and say, “Grayson, don’t ever stick your middle finger up at me or anyone else again. And, I promise I won’t either… whenever you’re watching me.”


You're a Meany!

So I’m officially a meany. How do I know? Well my son whispered it under his breath three seconds after I got upset at him.

“Meany,” he whispers while slowly glancing up just to make sure I was still drooling, sitting on the couch oblivious to everything around me.

I’m not really sure when that phase ends. The phase where you still believe if you’re not looking at someone, then they clearly can’t see you. Or if you mumble something, there’s no possible way in hell someone eight feet from you could hear it!

What my child is too young to realize is that I’m the poster child for ADD. I don’t miss a fucking thing. No….thing. If he rolls over in his bed at night, I hear it and wonder if he’s about to start puking everywhere. If the wifey sighs just a fraction harder than normal, the hairs stand-up on the back of my neck and I get queasy with fear. I can hear my neighbors two doors down having sex every other night…well…that might be because I have a video camera in the house, but I digress….

“Meany,” he mumbles, slowly looks up, and I can only imagine how badly he shat himself when he saw the look on my face.

“I’m mean?!! Really? I’m mean? Because I had to ask you four times to do the same thing and you wouldn’t do it so I raised my voice and now I’M MEAN?”

I remember as a kid getting in trouble and being chewed out and sent to my room. I’d be walking up the stairs and I’d stop and hold my middle finger up towards the kitchen where my dad had just reamed me. I was a totally bad-ass like that. I was all mumbling “fuck you!!!! Suck on this ya bastard!!!!,” while I grabbed my tiny package and shook it at him.

I’m still trying to figure out a way to rig a series of mirrors and cameras along the stairs to his room so I can catch him doing the same thing to me.

But then it sets in…. “damn….was I being a meany? I mean..he did kinda have a legitimate excuse. I know I said it four times, but in all reality, iCarly was looking pretty good on TV, there was a shiny object in the corner of the room, the cat did walk by, and old man Jenkins was cutting his grass creating some damn loud noises. So….there were quite a few distractions from him actually hearing me say the same thing four freakin’ times in a row.

So I start feeling bad…I want to call him back down, hug him and say let’s move on. But then what would that Super Nanny show woman say? In her British accent she’d be all, “you have to be consistent and stick to your guns.”

I always wonder if she’s like that in bed. “Paul…I’ve been naughty and you haven’t put my on my naughty stool yet. You won’t even spank my arse or give me a stern talking to. You must show me who’s boss of this house…and do it sternly, consistently, and while wearing leather.”

So I just let him sit up there and stew…while I stew…and try hard not to kick the cat.

And it’s always funny how the daughter acts like an angel after her brother’s gotten into trouble.

And then I let him back down…I do hug him…all’s good….we play, we laugh, and usually within 10 minutes I’m in the corner, naked, crying, and rocking back and forth….again.