Saturday, March 6, 2010
One such time was yesterday afternoon. My wife Jill and I had picked up my son from his school and drove home. Jill walked into the house and my son for some reason refused to get out of the car. After telling him several times to get out of the car and go inside the house, I lost my cool. "Get in the house, donkey dick!"
I am well aware that "donkey dick" is not the proper way to address my child when trying to discipline him. But the words seemed to pop out of my mouth before I could stop them.
The plus side of calling him donkey dick (if there is a plus side) was that he instantly jumped out of the backseat of the car and sprinted inside the house.
"Mom, Dad just called me a donkey dick!" He was laughing as he yelled it, because, one: I just handed over to him the opportunity to swear and get away with and two: He knew full well I was going to catch hell from his mother.
Sure enough, when I walked into the back door, she was standing there with her hand on her hip and her head cocked to the side.
"Really? Really? You called our eight year old child a donkey dick?" My son stood there next to her and beamed a smile from ear to ear.
"I'm sorry. It slipped out" I mumbled.
"What did you say?"
I figured she was just putting the screws to me now so I yelled, "It slipped out!"
My wife's reply instantly let me off the hook. She said it so instinctively and so quickly that I knew I had gained a reprieve and there would be no more talk on the matter.
"That's what she said."