My regulars will remember lots of posts on this here blog, back in the day, about my son when he was younger and much more entertaining. And when I could be truthful when calling him the wee fella.
He's had a birthday recently. 16. And he's no longer a wee fella. He's got a good 4 inches on his old man.
Anywho, in honour of this I thought I would offer you both a reprise.
This blog was posted nearly four years ago ...
The wee fella said – after
I gave him a good morning hug as he approached the breakfast table
(well, THE table. I don’t have a table for like, every meal) –
Daaaad, your breath stinks – pause – and your teeth are yellow.
Me – that was harsh.
The wee fella grins – it’s
called tough love – grins even wider and finishes with – bitch!
It’s my latest health kick and I
give myself one day per week off the healthy stuff and eat absolutely
anything I want. On this occasion I had a pizza – grand pan, meat
feast – from a well known pizza chain. I’d mention them by name
but I want some freebies first. (You know who you are. See my agent.
Please.) Washed down with lashings of cola. From another well known
company. Same rules apply ...Company Beginning with P.
I was munching into said
pizza and fancied a wee top up to my cola. The cola was in the
kitchen. I couldn’t be arsed going for it. I never ask the wee
fella to be my gopher as I used to hate it when I was a kid.
in the few occasions I have made such a request he moans like I’ve
asked him to do a shift up a chimney. However, I had my sloth on and
thought I would give it a go.
Me – could you fill up my
glass, son? (I point helpfully to the cola bottle visible through the
TWF – (grunts, stands up)
Me – after he has poured a
paltry two fingers worth – thanks.
TWF – Why didn’t you get
it for yourself?
Me – I wanted to see if
you would do something for me.
TWF – I do something for
you every day, Dad. (BIG grin) I give you a reason to live.