Let me clarify before the local constable comes knocking: I did not kill Stacy. I don’t even know a Stacy as far as I know. I’m sure there are a lot of terrific Stacy’s and I doubt very much that I’d want to kill any of them. I could have called this post “Kids Say the Darndest Things” except for (a) it’s not a very catchy title and (b) no one says ”darndest” anymore now that Art Linkletter and Bill Cosby are dead.*
This is why I should dust my mantle for my Father of the Year award which, I can only assume is in shipment. These are things my kids said to me and Mrs. Nitmos this weekend while criss crossing town for soccer, burger, and beers.
I should also note that we are what you would call “relaxed” parents. Sure, we do all of the health, safety, and general social etiquette stuff that keeps us out of jail and the kids reasonably socialized but, if a “shit” or “damn” slips out of their young mouths, I don’t really say much or care much. The world is full of worse. I’m a BIG PICTURE kinda guy. They are good kids even if a profanity slips out or my colt kills prostitutes named Stacy.
Okay, maybe context is important. My colt plays a few violent video games: Call of Duty, Kill Zone, Grand Theft Auto, etc. He was being a little sullen, as teenagers are want to do, so I thought I’d goad him into speech by asking:
Me: Have you had to shoot any prostitutes yet in GTA?
Colt: I already killed Stacy. She wasn’t the first though. I ran Jolene over with a car.
Now, you are probably thinking that I took the opportunity to scold him and, maybe, give a stern lecture on economics and the value of capital. Instead:
Me: Did she get out of line?
Dusting that mantle….
Meanwhile, my filly – going through reproductive health class and learning all sorts of AMAZING things for which there is no end to the questions (that I’m having a difficult time redirecting her back to her mother) – blurts out:
Filly (very serious): I wonder how much blood is in my uterus right now?
I miss the days when we'd talk about My Little Ponies. They don't have a uterus.
Dusting that mantle…
This all happened on the same car ride home Saturday night; a car ride that lasts only 7 minutes from a burger pub up the road. By now everyone is laughing hysterically at the dead prostitutes and inappropriate filly question. So, naturally, things could only get worse. My filly starts to improvise a hip hop song she heard but substitutes “dancing” for "candy".
Filly (singing and lilting her elbows back and forth in a seated dance): Eating some candy and getting fucked up. Gonna eat some candy and get fuuucked up.
The f word always gets a severe “Hey now” from us but it loses its power when you say it between fits of unrestrained laughter. Just a little tip from Nitmos to you perspective parents. The More You Know.
Dusting that mantle…
Finally, we pull into the garage, home at last. I’m a classy guy. Unfortunately, I’m also a gassy guy. Fffffrrrrumphhhh…pip.
Filly: Dad, stop farting and making us feel it.
Apparently, that one shook the seats.
That was an eventful car ride home. I think this should decisively end any Father of the Year debate. Or maybe I’ll stop dusting that mantle. It’s hopeless. The best I can hope for is no calls from the principal before they head out on their own as young adults. Then, they are the rest of the world’s problems. /Gacy’ed
*Not sure about Cosby but who’s got time for research?
Photos from the weekend? Why not. Here’s the filly breaking in on goal….
...and here’s the filly blasting a ball off the goalies face with a sharp line drive strike. Note the ball willowing away to the side and the grimace and backward descent of the face smashed goalie. Please note that the goalie is technically out of the goal box so her only option to play the ball anyhow was by feet or face. She went for face. Or rather, the decision was made for her.
Here’s the colt. How did he not get a shot away on this? I should have told him that the ball was a backhand and the goal, Stacy. C’est la vie.