Why I'm Glad I'm Not My Dad
(Top Ten Reasons)
I would have to remember all those stories about the old days and put up with my family rolling their eyes at me when I repeated them.
My idea of a great toy would be a brand new mulching lawn mower with variable speeds and a twenty-two inch deck.
My back would ache from all those piggy back rides.
I would know the way to the service station and the hardware store, but I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to get to Aragom's Secret Level 10.
My right arm would always be out of joint from swinging it backwards at the kid acting up in the back seat, while steering with the left one.
I would get very tired of apologizing to my kids, my wife, the dog, and the neighbors for accusing them of taking the tools I absent-mindedly misplaced.
I would hate spending an hour in the bathroom every day. (What does he do in there, anyway? And why does he need a book?)
Can you imagine having to ask your kids to interpret your text messages? How embarrassing!
I would have to learn how to say all those famous dad phrases like:
"Listen here, Buster!"
"Don't make me say this twice."
"Not while you're under my roof!"
"We're not lost. I just don't know where we are."
And the number one reason why I'm glad I'm not my dad is this:
Kissing on the lips? That's just plain gross!
I love the Lord Jesus with all of my heart. Besides being a teacher, I have been a newspaper guest columnist and have had several short stories and poems published. I love extracting beauty from the ordinary: vegetables, notes, fabric, flowers, paper, weeds, words.
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