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February 23, 2005
Cast Away Comment
When you have children around, no comments are cast away comments.
I realized this yesterday morning.
My wife and I were talking about some power-line workers who had left their unmanned truck parked in the middle of our road; not allowing anyone to enter or leave the neighborhood.
I used the term "slackers" to describe them.
Which immediately bounced through my sons neural paths made some connections and brought forth his speech, "Kinda like cops who eat doughnuts and do paperwork."
He later ammended "paperwork" to "read the paper".
My eyes got wide and I asked the boy where he had heard such a thing. Of course, I surmised, from TV or friends at school. No way it could be anywhere else.
The boy replied, "Pastor Bob". Well, no he didn't, but that would have been nicer than what he really said which was, "You."
I kind of chuckled. Kind of. I couldn't think of a time where I would have said something like that in front of the boy. I mean; I rarely yell at my wife in front of the children, and almost always am inarticulate when I lose my temper, so I am at least careful. (Those comments are tongue-in-cheek and don't necessarily reflect reality... necessarily).
So I asked him when he had heard this.
"In San Antonio, while driving to the coffee shop, last year."
Do I remember it? No.
Should I? Got me.
So, my son's memory is scary, and I have to watch out for my cast away comments. They will be picked up.
And as a good father, I had to correct my previous statements and rectify the situation of the cast away comment.
"Now, son. Don't say that. You know it isn't nice. Even if daddy did say that. What you should say instead is... Kinda like policemen who eat doughnuts and do paperwork. They don't like to be called cops."
Posted by oriondark at 09:49 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
February 17, 2005
You're my Obession
I think its by the Human League, could be wrong. But its definitely about obsessing over certain members of the opposite sex. Child's play, I say. Child's play.
So its a Saturday afternoon, and I am attempting to do some work on my computer. The boy somehow sneaks past his mother and down into the bowels of the basement where I am hiding out.
Of course I can't be bothered, so I come up with an ingenius idea (incompatible means not compatible, so what does ingenius mean?)... let the boy play Halo2 on the Xbox. And the only rule? You can't bother your father for anything or ask any questions about how to play, or I turn it off and you go back upstairs.
Simple enough.
Well, I get engrossed in my work, so it is a while before I look up again. An hour or two has passed.
Then I sneak up behind the boy as he is still playing Halo2.
Well, actually, sneaking at this point is rather tough as he is standing up on the chair and moving around trying to use his body as a visual clue for what his character should be doing.
It surprises me to notice that he has completed two levels and is continuing on.
As I watch with fascination, he commandeers an enemy vehicle and begins to shoot all the bad guys, then shouts out loud, "No one can stop the Destroyer!!!"
Hiding my chuckles I continue to watch as he moves through the game.
He then encounters a situation of certain doom, and stands up and shouts again, "Run away, run away." This goes on for a full half-minute as he escapes the danger.
At this point it occurs to me that he has been playing the game for quite a while, and I have been watching him for quite a while; and I have a wife and two other daughters.
So, back up into the light.
---
Well, in a Valentine's day project for the boy's school, he has to say something nice about his father and mother. The nice thing: "They let my play Halo2."
He spent an hour or so building every vehicle in Halo2 out of legos.
He asks me about playing Halo2 whenever I go down to the basement.
He drives his mother nuts by asking her if he can play Halo2, all day long.
In short, he's obsessed. And its nothing as trivial as a fading fancy. The boy has staying power.
And me, well, I'm just the dad that can't let him play the game very much at all anymore. Well, not too much. Wouldn't want to feed his obsession. Probably only once every few days. Or maybe every other day or so. And not for longer than an hour. Unless of course he's almost at the end of a level, or on a really cool part. And maybe a little bit longer, if he stands up and says "No one can stop the Destroyer!!"
Posted by oriondark at 11:37 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
February 16, 2005
Reality through Dance
Proof, show me proof you say.
Thomas needs to see the nail holes.
A merchant wants to feel the gold.
People need to see to believe. If I can't see it, its not real. Or might not be real.
And so, these thoughts bring me to Isabelle, and reality through dance.
When you can't communicate effectively through verbal overatures, there are other ways.
So we are standing in the grocery store, Isabelle and I. The cold flourescent lights are shining down on the raw meat products. Somewhere in the background, The Commodores are singing 'Nighshift', and I've got the juice-stained shopping list in my hand.
Isabelle stops from her rollicking through the aisles, returns to me, smiles up at me and says, "I have to go peep." (The Doe way of saying pee-pee).
Now a father should trust his daughter implicitly, but I've had many a run-in with the aforementioned Isabelle as to have some doubts about her implicit veracity.
Thus the question, "Are you sure?"
And then, my dear Isabelle, having reached the boundaries of verbal speech, and having seen the glimmer of doubt in my eyes, and really, really wanting me to believe her... begans gyrating, dancing, and whirling around about my feet.
"See" she says, "I really do have to go peep. I'm doing the pee-pee dance."
Thomas has the nail-holes, and mechants feel the gold. I get the pee-pee dance. Seeing is believing, I guess.
And like a good father, I rushed her to the restroom.
Posted by oriondark at 11:29 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack