I Am Magic

I like to think that I am a dad that can pretty much do anything. And if I can't, it's important that the kids think I can do anything. Dad is big and strong, dad is the fixer of all, the lifter of heavy, the kisser of hurts. I have carefully cultivated this image of myself in my children's eyes. With any luck they will never realize that dad is a mortal. Dad is the God Zeus who thunders down lighting bolts to those that should defy him. Failure to eat your hotdog will cause earthquakes and hitting of little brothers in the face with flashlights will light the very fires of Hades!

For the most part, this has worked. Although I am beginning to think it has worked to well.

I have convinced my children that I am magic. Not as in, hey look at this quarter I pulled out of your ear. That's rookie dad. But as in, Hey, look, Dad made it stop raining for a second. This little trick is accomplished by telling your children that you can make it stop raining right as you get near a bridge. As soon as you get underneath the bridge, snap your fingers. Bam, no rain on the car anymore. Snap them again before you get to the other side and the illusion is complete, welcome to God status. It's nice here, we get grapes and milk.

I can open and close the garage door with just a snap of my fingers too (with the opener carefully concealed in my pocket.) I have "taught" my daughter this trick as well and told them it works so long as they believe in fairies and think happy thoughts.

They believe that I can control everything with a snap of my fingers. The TV comes on, movies start, radio's turn on. And this is where I find my current problem.

"Dad! We want snow! Make it snow!"

The magic snapping father is having problems with this one.

"We want to ride our sled!"

I'm trying to explain the concept of global weather patterns and the affect that El Nino has been known to have. I don't think they have not heard a word I've said. They just want the magic snapping fingers. They start to chant.

"Snow! Snow! Snow!"

I taught them to chant as well. It was cool when the chant was "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" It's like walking around with your own little glee club. Feeling blue? Get your kids to chant your name like you've just scored the winning touchdown, that cheers you right up. But it shortly became a way for them to get what they want when I just want everyone in the house to put a sock in it.

The chant and the snapping fingers can't make it snow. I know this. You know this. They would never believe this is the case. We had a little bit of snow this year but it was to warm for anything to stick. They barely got to even play in it. Pretty soon it was just wet mush that made the yard muddy. I think this only wet their appetites though for winter play. And I've got nothing. Nothing at all. So I do the only thing that I can think of.

I remind them that perhaps they fought a little to much today. Was everyone nice? Did everyone finish their lunch? I don't think so. Daddy thinks that I saw some hotdogs and carrots left on some plates. Hmm, that's not being very good is it?

I know it's a bastard move. But what's more important, teaching them to listen to their father and having them believe I am magical OR having them know that dad is nothing but an out of work fraud?

I answer that question myself as I ask Bubba Hoss and Little Hoss to snap their fingers so that we can open the garage door.