I have a small basketball hoop stand for when my four year old grandson visits. He loves to run around the car with me in hot pursuit, and slam the ball on me. Needless to say, this form of basketball keeps my winning percentage down, and he’ll do this for an hour if I don’t pass out first. :) When he visited the last time, he immediately wanted to play ‘basketball’ so on the way out to the hoop, he says:
“Pa, I’m slamming on you today.”
“Not today, kid,” I lie. “I’m going to beat you like a red-headed step child.”
He laughs, and slams on me.
I’m sitting on the couch this week after a day fighting motor mounts, and other rusted, caked with dirt parts on a 1978 Chevy Truck. My daughter calls from
“Hey, Dad, what the heck’s up with this ‘beat you like a red-headed step child’ stuff?”
“You know he’s still getting into trouble for finger signing L’s on his forehead, and the ‘talk to the hand’ stuff, you and that idiot brother of mine taught him,” she scolds me. It’s payback time, and she has a long memory.
“We didn’t teach it to him,” I disagree calmly. “Your brother and I were trading them back and forth, not realizing we had your son around for playback later. My bad. As to my most recent addition to his phraseology, I…”
“Maybe you should just not say anything around him,” she jokes pointedly.
“Or maybe he and I could talk about the old days when you were young,” I reply innocently.
“Don’t you dare!”