Daddy Mac will make you Jump Jump

A moon or so in the rearview, I was paying bills at the crick of the crack (read: early.) I tell you that for this; I was in front of computer in our main living room (not our family room.) I was also in a bad mood.

So, there I sat, 6:20am, cup of coffee in one hand. Gas bill in the other. I was pissed that the gas bill was so high, considering that the messoplex had been global warming scary warm all damn winter. That's when I heard the first bump. Loud. Followed by three more successive bumps.

I was thinking to myself, 'what the...,' when I heard the Elder Boy's bedroom door fly open and smack the wall, as he came running down the hallway into the den which was dark.

"Dad?"
"Boy. I'm in here, paying bills. In front of the computer."

It is a well established fact in the Casa, even the Youngest member of the Team knows, that Dad is a bitter angry man when he is paying bills. So, with a fair amount of trepidation, Ethan said, "Oh."

The sound of his oh, along with the fact that he was still standing in the dark den hurt. The Boy was afraid to come into the room while I was paying bills because he figured I'd be uptight angry man. I suck. Feeling ashamed I said, "It's OK Boy, I'm not in a bad mood." Which was a lie, I was (and still am) angry at those profiteering rat bastards at Atmos Energy. "I'm about done anyway. What's up?"

Reassured, the Boy rounded the corner and came into the room and annouced, "I got dressed all by myself."

Good golly, Dear Reader, the Boy had in fact got dressed.

I should point out that although Ethan is old enough to do this feat himself, he usually wants my assistance to get dressed. I actually like to get him dressed. Yet another shiny example of my not wanting to let go and trying to hang onto him being a little boy for a little longer.

The Boy. He's playing me. Hard. He knows I'm a softie (his Mom is not by the way) and figures, why dress myself if Dad will do it for me.

Whatever the case, on this fine morning, at the crick of the crack, the Boy decided to get dressed without my assistance and was so proud he wanted to show me his work. Checking out his ensemble, I said, "Very good Ethan. You did a great job. Give me a high five."

As we smacked hands in front of the computer, I noted that my praise was a bit premature. You see, the Boy had his pants on backwards.

I was about to say something about it, when I thought better, and figured, what the hell. Not that big of a deal. The Boy is proud, why crush his initiative. Roll with it.

Roll I did. I figured My Lovely Bride would would right the ship later in the day. I assumed she'd get him to put them on proper when he put them back on after taking a dump (he has the curious habit, which I think, might be a kid thing, of taking his pants completely off when he takes a crap.)

As usual, I was wrong. When I got home that afternoon the Boy's pants were still on backwards. While he was busy running amok in the backyard with his brother, the Little Warrior, I asked my Lovely Bride, "Why are the Boy's pants still on backwards."

The answer. "He likes it." OK then.

Fast forward and the Boy continued to put his pants on backwards when he dressed himself. So much so, that it clearly wasn't a rookie mistake. It was in fact his preferred way to wear any sweat or warm-up type pants. He wears his jeans normal. I figured, maybe it was an around the house thing. Wrong. The Boy suited up on a school day with his pants on backwards. That was more than I could take. Fearing peer pressure for him and me (what were his teachers going to think?) I tried to reason with the Boy.

"Ethan," I said, "Do you really want to wear your pants backwards to school? Won't the kids make fun of you."
He looked at me, nonplussed, as if I was the one that had a problem, and said nothing.
"Son, why do you want to wear them backwards?"
"I like it." OK then.

Sitting there, stumped, I decided, that it really wasn't that big of a deal. So what if the Elder Boy wears his pants backwards. It doesn't matter what other people think. I know he's not daft. And even if, I love the Boy. No matter what, pants forward or backwards.

Still, and even after my internal pep talk, I was worried about the peer pressure. Silly. That's what I was thinking, when I had an idea. Finally, my monkey brain and plethora of useless trivia could help the Boy (and me) with a defense in the form of a joke which is my normal MO.

"Boy," I said. " If anyone makes fun of your pants being on backwards, tell them this; I'm kicking it old school, like Kris Kross!"

OK then.

Until I BLOG again...Belive dat.