Wednesday, September 2, 2015

But, I'm only Five, Daddy

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Christopher (front) and Nico on their way to receive an award.



September 2, 2015


“Nope, I don’t want to go”

What do you mean you don’t want to go? I’m the parent. You have to go if I say so.

“Don’t wanna go, daddy.”

There is no debating this, son. Get dressed, you’re going.

“Nope.”

Yes.

“Nope.”

There is little chance of you not going, son. I’d say the odds are stacked against you. If I were a betting man, in Vegas, I’d avoid betting on you as if the starting team lost its star player.

The fact is you’re five years old. Son, it isn’t your fault that you’re unable to see that you have already lost the battle and you’re about to lose the war.

So, if you could, if you don’t mind, put on your shoes and let’s go. We’re pressed for time, so, lets pretend, all this didn’t happen.

“Daddy, I understand your position. It’s a chess match between you and I. We are both in a psychological stand off of sorts.

On one hand you want me to go. You need more to go, willingly; so that you will feel that you have succeeded as a parent and talked me into do something without getting the least bit emotional.

On the other hand, I know if I don’t move, you will force me to go. And I will defy you, kicking and screaming, until you get me in the car. However, now, you are in a closed compartment, where I will kick and thrash in my seat. I’ll probably refuse to put on my seat belt until that moment when you pretend to get out of the car. You know how it goes. You unlatch the belt and sling it to the left. You grip the door handle with your left and push the car door open. You turn and place your foot on the ground.

But that puts little fear into me. I have seen it many times before daddy. We need some originality. Maybe you should change your routine just a little. Because as soon as I see that foot touches the driveway, I will quickly grab the seat belt and put it on, thus, causing you to get back in your seat.

But I won’t be done after the seat belt fiasco. Oh no, my little voice will amplify, making me sound as if there are 3 of me, sitting just feet from your ears. You will pretend to ignore me. Maybe look at your phone? No, Not this time, you’ll turn up the radio, won’t you? Pretend, maybe wishing, that I wasn’t there.

But daddy, you know I’m there, watching you, crying, and pretending just as much as you’re pretending. I will cause my voice to go into different octaves of nerve twitching screeches. I will watch your face cringe in the rear view mirror until I find the right tone that will absolutely annoy you and then I will stay at the octave.

When I cry and won’t stop you will then try to be the good guy because when that happens, you will be the “good guy.”

‘Come on son. It’ll be fun,’ you’ll say.

‘We can get some ice cream later,’ you’ll try to compromise.

But I’ll pretend that I won’t hear you. I’ll cover my hands with my face or look out the window. I don’t want your ice cream. There is ice cream in the house. You know it and I know it.

Then daddy, when I think you may be winning because you haven’t moved from your seat since the, put on your seat belt, incident, I will enlist the help of my brother. I will wink at him, indicating I am ready for him to participate. We have our sign language all worked out. And then he will start crying and egging it on. Possibly pretend he’s on board with you daddy. Yelling at me to be nice, ‘listen to daddy,’ he’ll begin shouting. Then I will yell at him, no! And so it will go back and forth.

Do you still want to go to the store?”

I- um- well, I’m exhausted just hearing this. Maybe we should just all have a nap while falling a sleep to a movie.


“That depends, daddy. What movie are we going to watch? I’m only five.”



Nico (left) and Christopher receiving their 3rd place finish after trailing last place the entire season. Monstrous comeback

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