Breaking Dad

I have found pride in the oddest of places. Once in an acting exercise my partner was tasked with giving me a criticism of some sort. He said, “you play at being dumb, so people won’t know how smart you are”. I took this as a compliment, and although I know that it wasn’t, it still feels like one.

Professional psychologists call this reaction ‘being thick’. I’ve done very little research, so trust me on this. The point is that I found pride in a statement I should not have.

This leads me to the reason for my post. Recently during dinner my eldest daughter did something that caused my wife and I to laugh, a lot. My eldest took this and immediately began to milk it in every way she could. The reanimation of this now dead joke went on for several minutes.

I looked over the table and asked my daughter, “do you know what this is?”, as I pantomimed milking a cow. My response of “its you, milking that joke”, came hard on her answer of “no”.

Her response was as quick as a light switch bringing brilliance to the dark.

Without pause she retorted, “No, its a latter, so you can get over it”.

This to some may seem disrespectful. To me, it is more accurate proof of her lineage than any DNA test.

Sarcasm is a soul flower that can be beautiful, brilliant, stinky, thorny, and poisonous.

I’ll teach her to be an apothecary with all the ingredients. How to brew up witticisms, stew snark into a boil, use sarcasm as a salve for tension, and consult with her on the chemistry of the come back.

Snark is the family business of sorts.

I’m Breaking Dad.

Jimmie G.

 

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