Thumbs On The Outside

"No son, keep your thumbs on the outside of your fists."

"Like this Dad?"

"No, not quite like that. Here let me show you. See, isn't that better?"

"Yup"

"Never put your thumbs inside your fist. That way you won't break them."

"Break them?"

"Yup. You'll break your thumbs when you punch if it's inside your fist. Hurts like hell. "

"Ok Dad."

I could feel the glare coming from Hossmom. I refused to look at her. I wasn't going to match that glare, I wanted no part of it. I thought we were having a nice pleasant dinner. Apparently, she did not.

"Hossman! That is not appropriate dinner conversation and even less appropriate to teach our 3 year old son."

"He's 3 1/2 now."

That didn't help.

"Excuse me?"

I should just stop. I'm not going to win this one. In fact, I never win any of these. It's easier to just nod and go watch some SportsCenter. March Madness is almost here.

But I don't. I jump right in because I'm an idiot. I take the dive like a circus freak high diving into a glass of water. We all know that this isn't going to end well.

"Well, how would you suggest he punch? Go ahead, show us. He'll break his thumbs if he listens to you." I'm digging myself halfway to China at this point.

"I would suggest that he doesn't punch anyone!"

Sure, that would be the best course of action. But again, Hossmom is putting words in my mouth. This is how she always beats me at debates. She invents things that I never say. I never told anyone to punch anyone. Never. But let's be honest, these are my kids. Sooner or later, something is going to get punched. It could be a wall or a lion. We all know it's going to happen. At least this way we will have all working digits and no hospital bill.

"But......"

I don't even get the response out before the next wave hits.

"Sometimes I just don't understand you." She says

And there is the problem. Hossmom is trying to understand the unique relationship between a father and his children. She can't, sorry, she just can't. I understand that her connection is on a much deeper, life giver type of level. She carried them for 9 months, she nursed them, she sings in a softer voice than me. She is the very vision of comfort and love. But that vision isn't going to prevent you from getting your ass kicked. I'm just saying.

There's tons of stuff like this that can only come from good old dad. Is mom going to teach them to tuck and roll when you jump from a moving car? Probably not. Is mom going to teach them how to throw a perfect spiral and hit the target right between the numbers? Nope. And is mom going to teach them how to take one for the team when you need a baserunner? Nope, mom is going to tell them to dodge. But Dad knows that sometimes you got to take a fastball to the kidney to get on base. It's the way of the world.

I could point out that she uses my other fatherly gifts. She asked me to teach the boy how to spit the other day. We were brushing teeth and he kept on dribbling. She flat out asked me to teach the boy how to spit. Uncouth sure, but something everyone needs to actually know. I was about to tell her this and continue digging myself in.

"Here Bubba Hoss, like this!" Little Hoss says. She then makes a perfect fist.

"Oh my god, you did not!"

"About two years ago."

"How would you like it if I punched you!" Hossmom says.

"You'd probably break your thumbs. Have at it."

I really should just go watch Sportscenter.