Kei: “Daddy, how did you put me in Mommy’s belly?”
Me: “Uh, I just rared back and put you in there.”
Kei: “What did you use?”
Sharon: “Ahhhhhhahahah…”
Kei: “What did you use, Daddy?”
Me: “Well, I um…”
Sharon: “Uh, he used his, uhhh, his magic!”
Me: “Yeah, I used my Daddy Magic!”
Kei: “Magic?”
(I have to mention here that “magic,” as it is called in our house, is whipped cream, specifically from a can, like Redi Whip. That was not the magic we were referring to.)
Sharon (laughing hysterically at this point): Hahahaha yeah, “Daddy Magic!” Hahahaha!
Kei: “Did you use your magic wand? Like my magic wand??”
Me: “Well, kind of, but, no, not really like yours…”
Kei: “Where is it? Where do you keep it?”
Me (Worried about painting myself into a corner): “I put it away, honey… I put it away…”
Sharon: “Hohohooooheeehaaaa…!!”
She’s three-and-a-half years old. I ain’t having that talk yet.
I learned recently that Bert Brooks, the son of my cousin, Ozella (making him my second cousin, I suppose), died on 7 September in a BASE jumping accident at Lauterbrunnen, Bern, Switzerland. I can’t say I knew him—I only remember meeting him a few times when I was very young. As can be assumed about most of those involved in the BASE jumping scene, I guess he must have been an intense guy and presumably died doing what he loved. Any one of us can only hope to go out like that…
