Play that Funky Music White Boy

Tonight, Trina drug me to a craft store to look for supplies for one of her endless projects. Besides myself, she also tagged my three-year-old son Dakota. He and I being the only two males in the household, I think she felt that we needed to better get in touch with our feminine side. I have tried to explain to her that in many third-world countries, her actions would constitute cruel and unusual punishment. In fact, I have seen the movie Midnight Express and even inmates in Turkish prisons are not forced to look at endless aisles of glue sticks. Regardless of our whimpering and whining, we still had to go. So there we were, marching down the rows of Styrofoam balls, past the land of glitter. From the shopping cart, Dakota began to sing the one song he knows from start to finish. With each passing step he began to sing louder. “Take me out to the ball game, take me out to the crowd!” His voice began to carry throughout the store. By the time he got to “root, root, root for the Diamondbacks”, several other men in the store began to chime in. By the end of his song, everyone in the store had come over to see who was singing. They couldn’t believe it was coming from a little boy. I couldn’t understand the commotion. Doesn’t every kid learn Take Me Out to the Ballgame as their first song? These people really need to get out more. What was more amazing was how quickly Trina finished her shopping so that she could get us out of that store. For nearly 20 years I have tried without success to get out of a craft store in less than three hours and have been unsuccessful. Now, my three-year-old got her out in less than 20 minutes. I’m beginning to think this kid is some kind of genius. I wonder what he can do at a fabric store.


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