Sebastien Wilcox

It’s snowing in Calgary. And cold. So, being the caring parent that I am, I decided that my son should wear a tuque before going outside and getting me a coffee. Er, I mean building a snowman. But as I kneel down to put a tuque on his head, Zachary makes two guns with his thumbs and index fingers and decides to place them on either side of my head, and yelps out BANG! BANG! to boot (not to be confused with to mitten).

The good news is I didn’t die.

The bad news is Zachary might be serving 4 to 6 minutes in his bedroom for shooting me in the head.

Zachary, why did you go gangster on my ass I said. Dad, it’s gansta and it was your head not your ass, he said. Don’t talk back to me I’m your dad, I said. But you like when I call you papa he said. I do I said, but the point is you made guns with your hands and that’s not nice. Papa I didn’t make guns dad, I made the letter H, see?

At this point, my son puts his index fingers together and has his thumbs up and, wouldn’t you know it, he shows me what clearly looks like the letter H.

I said yeah H as in horse shit maybe. Oh papa you said shit. No I didn’t Zach, I said ship, as in horse ship.

Horse ship? What’s that dad? It’s a ship that takes sea horses to land, I said. Horse ship he said. No it’s true I said. What’s true dad?

The moral of this post? Two can play at this game.