3/14/09

Daddy Kicks Ass

I have taught my daughter many things over the last three years. Because that is what a father is supposed to do, that's what a father is good for. Where else is she going to get this knowledge from, the special knowledge that only a father can teach?

I don't see Hossmom teaching the difference between chin music and a wild pitch. And I don't think there is any other way that Little Hoss could figure out craps without dear old dad teaching her what the pass line is and to never bet on box cars.

It's been fun. Little Hoss knows how to rock out, she knows how to play the air guitar. She knows how a flamingo stands and she knows how to play peek-a-boo with the rhino. I'm awesome and my little minion is proof of that.

She can sing the entire last verse of David Allen Cole's You Don't Have to Call Me Darlin'. Bar songs, only a father can teach that.

But as a minion, I decided that it was time to up it a little bit. She's been a pretty good little minion in training but it was time to kick it into high gear. She does her tricks, I give her a cookie and we progress. However, now we needed to be more vocal about her father's greatness.

It was with this in mind that I decided to teach my daughter how to say "Daddy Kicks Ass."

We've been working on this for a while, starting slowly at first. I taught her to say "Daddy Cool". She got that pretty good. Then we evolved to "Daddy Rocks" then follows it up with a high five. But now we needed to go further, push the boundaries a little bit.

I know that I may be biased here, but every time I teach my daugher something new, I see that something special in her. Honestly, I see her and think she is just slightly ahead of the curve. She is stronger, faster, smarter--the 6 million dollar toddler. In short, Little Hoss Cool. What better way to announce the fact than have my daughter enter a room, wait for a lull in the conversation and then yell "Daddy Kicks Ass." I will stroll in and wink at a couple pretty ladies, grab me a martini and then wow people with my discussions on the global economy and the use of correct grammar.

But there were a few setbacks at first. I rethought my brilliant plan of "Daddy Kicks Ass" and decided to change it up. Mainly because I knew that if Hossmom learned that I intentionally taught our 3 year old daughter to cuss, I would be sleeping in the driveway until she turned 18. I don't need that kind of hate in my life.

So we changed up the wording a little bit. Instead of Daddy Kicks Ass we went with Daddy Kicks Booty. An appropriate substitution that may in fact be a little more helpful by using the vernacular that she already knows.

Every parent teaches there kid where the body parts are. It's one of the first things you teach. Head, shoulders, knees and toes KNEES and TOES! You move on from there. I decided to mix it up a little bit though when it came to my daughter's sensitive areas. Instead of vagina we use the word Koochie. That's what we called it as a kid. And instead of posterior sitting flab, we went with booty. She'll squat on the ground and then point to her booty, she's a genius.

So we started.

"Little Hoss, say Daddy Kicks Booty." This was going to be awesome. I was already planning my next entrance to a restaurant or sweet 16 party.

She just smiled.

"Ok, honey, let's try this again. Daddy Kick Booty"

This time she pointed to her own booty.

Ok, no problem. I know how to communicate with her. After all, I did teach her to play air guitar to AC/DC.

I squatted on the ground in front of her, got down on her level. Looked her straight in the eye, grabbed her by her shoulders so she knew I was serious, and said "Little Hoss, Daddy Kick Booty."

At this time I became detracted, only for a minute. The dumb dogs were fighting over a left over peanut butter cracker on the floor. "Newt, Kahn!" I yelled. "Hus........"

And that's as far as I got before my little angel reared back her ninja foot and kicked me square in the balls. Well not exactly square, probably half balls and half taint, her little pointed shoes, stupid Dora shoes, making solid contact to my groinal region.

As the air rushed out of me I realized two very important things. First off, never turn you back on an armed toddler, and a toddler is always armed. Second, I should have really taught her what a metaphor was prior to uttering the words Daddy Kick Booty. Obviously what she heard was Kick Daddy's Booty. And being the good little girl that she was, she complied as any good minion would. You don't question your orders, you just carry them out.

I didn't teach her the difference between figurative language and the literal. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I'm grabbing my crotch as all these thoughts go through my head. I have to admit though, she did well. Given my current position, it was the only way she could actually reach my booty to kick it. A very good martial arts move, maybe she's got a little Bruce Lee in her. Or maybe a little bit of a dirty street fighter. But all that got erased from my mind as the warm wave of stomach groin pain reached further behind my eyeballs to let me know that perhaps, just perhaps:

Daddy doesn't kick booty.

2 comments:

  1. ouch-like a hit to the funny bone... only worse.

    ReplyDelete
  2. omg i am laughing so hard i'm crying!

    ReplyDelete