Sign my daughter up for a frat.
Friday night, she walks into our family room, "watch the Yankees." Not Elmo...not Dora...the Yankees. "See Joe De-a-magio." OK, a few years too late...but the right idea. At least she knows "De-lick Je-ler."
Saturday morning, Newmommy asks, "What do you want for breakfast?" "Beers." The fact that she said beers...plural...made that priceless. Not 'till you're fifteen.....
Today, we told her we were having a bar-b-que. All day "bar-b-que...bar-b-que...." Of course, by the time the grillin' was almost done, she was, as Newaunt would say, a "hot mess," so we needed to put her down for a nap. First thing she said when she woke up: "hot dogs! hot dogs!"
Sports, alcohol and meat. Damn, I'm a good father.
[N.B.: No...of course I don't give Bud beer. But, I do give her hot dogs....kosher hot dogs...(what kind of dad feeds kosher hot dogs??). And, I expose her to the Yankees like all good fathers should.]
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