Monday, May 22, 2006
Several years ago, when my daughter was an infant, she learned that not all beverages are created equal. To be specific, she learned that some are fermented and others are not. Indeed, for at least two years all forms of beer were little more than "icky pop."
Now it's my son's turn. I'm Barbequing some chicken legs (I know, it's peasants' meat, but it's what the wife wanted). It's about 6:30 PM, and I'm in the mood for a little something in my Diet Coke.
Smirnoff to the rescue.
I was drinking it out of a Big Gulp cup of about 75% Diet Coke, 25% Vodka (enough to ease the sunburn on my shoulders, but not enough to turn me into a Kennedy). I put down the cup and turned to the fire pit, about to add some fodder, when Mark walks up and says, "Mark want Daddy pop."
This is what you call one of those "teachable moments." I knew that if I stopped him from sipping, Mark would just think that I was not allowing him refreshment. However, if I allowed him the sip--just a sip--he would learn not to go after my drink without some assurance as to its alcohol content.
As I watched him, I was a little amused and a little disgusted with myself (for just letting him take a swig). His sip was not great. It was merely a trifle. Just enough for him to set the cup down and say in horror, "Daddy's pop icky! Mark no like Daddy's icky pop. Icky pop too hot!"
There's just some comfort in knowing that all the money I've thus far and yet will put out for my kids will not come close to equalling the bills they'll be shelling out for therapy. On the other hand, who do you think they'll ask for the money?