The age-old struggle for supremacy between father and daughter is not well understood. Few scholars have dared approach the subject, preferring to wade into less treacherous waters of study, such as the transmission of plague or the destructive results of being hit by lightning. I have not enjoyed the luxury of such gutless timidity.
* * * * *
When my daughter Allison was a year old, we relocated to another city and I needed to open a checking account. At the bank, I put her into the stroller, one of those fancy models with big wheels and a handle that could be flipped around to allow you to either push or pull. On this particular day I had the handle set for pulling. The bank officer asked me to follow him to his office, which was down a carpeted hallway, past three or four cubicles and at least a half dozen large potted plants on the floor. I walked behind him, holding paperwork in my right hand and guiding the stroller with my left. At some point I noticed that it was taking more effort to keep moving, but attributed that to the thick carpeting. When we arrived in the office, I turned the stroller around so Allison and I could see each other. That’s when I noticed the huge plant she had dragged with us the entire length of the hallway. Apparently, as we walked she had reached out, grabbed the leaves, and just held on as I pulled them both along. When the plant tipped, the dark brown potting soil spilled over the side, leaving a long trail of dirt that began near the empty round impression in the carpet and ended in front of the bank officer’s neatly-arranged desk.
“Well,” I said, aiming for humor, “at least we’ll be able to find our way back out.” He smiled, but it was the smile of someone who would have killed me if he thought for a second that it wouldn’t cost him his job, or leave stubborn blood stains on his furniture.
* * * * *
When Allison was in kindergarten, her class took a trip to some kind of park where exotic animals were housed and kept for school visits and demonstrations. I went as a chaperone, because I had read in a book that I should always try to get out of my comfort zone, and I could think of few things more uncomfortable than riding in a school bus with twenty-seven five-year-olds to a park crawling with strange creatures. All of the other chaperones were women.
I can’t recall any of the animals now, except the python. I remember the python principally because it was handled by a young lady who seemed completely unaware that she was holding a snake that could swallow her whole and still have room for a small raccoon. In the middle of her lecture, the handler asked the kids if they wanted to touch the snake, which each of them did without hesitation. Then she asked if any of the parents wanted to, and the mothers all backed away and crossed their arms. My daughter, I should interject here, had developed a knack for saying things in an unusually loud voice, things that would either embarrass me or put me into some kind of mortal danger. This was an opportunity to do both, and she accomplished it with a deftness that should give pause to anyone considering parenthood.
“My father isn’t afraid of snakes!” she yelled while pointing in my direction.
I suppose there are neurons responsible for telling the legs to back away and the arms to cross, but before they could even fire in my brain, the small woman with the large python was standing directly in front of me. There she resumed her fascinating lecture on the texture of the animal’s scales, its life expectancy and eating habits, or whatever she was talking about. I didn’t know because my sense of hearing had been shut down as I focused on the snake, now approaching me in the slow, deliberate way that snakes have, with that look of confidence that seems to say, “You can make this easy, or you can make it hard. It’s all the same to me.” With the python’s squiggling tongue just inches from my face, the handler announced that the presentation was over. I believe I brushed a fingertip along the snake’s side, just so I wouldn’t have to endure Allison, at some future and most inopportune time, announcing to a large crowd that I chickened out after her entire class of kindergartners had touched a python.
* * * * *
Allison’s combination of loud voice and embarrassing commentary had frozen me dead in my tracks on at least two other occasions during the previous year. Both times we were in the supermarket. In the first instance, Allison didn’t want to sit in the shopping cart; I had no time to be chasing her around the store, so I tried to pick her up and put her into the seat. She squirmed to get free and I tightened my grip. Realizing she couldn’t compete with me physically, she employed the only advantage she had: intelligence.
“Daddy!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “You’re hurting me!”
There was no need to look around. The entire 60,000-square-foot store fell silent and I could feel every pair of eyes turn to stare in my direction. Fortunately, by the time I managed to get both of Allison’s feet through the openings in the shopping cart seat, everyone else had returned to whatever they had been doing.
On another grocery shopping excursion months later, in the canned fruit aisle, Allison again summoned her vocal cords to full volume as she was overcome with a sudden and inexplicable urge to describe the size of the woman making her way toward us.
“Look, Daddy. She’s fat!”
And then again, as the woman was passing by: “Isn’t she fat, Daddy? Really fat!” I never looked up. I pretended to be reading the ingredients label on a can of sliced peaches, which took some fairly decent acting skills, as the only ingredient was peaches.
* * * * *
Our adventures at home tended to be less embarrassing, if only because there were fewer witnesses. One night I ran into the kitchen of our apartment still wearing my heavy winter coat, grabbed a large pot, and rushed over to the sink to fill the pot with water. I couldn’t begin to explain now why I was in such a hurry to heat up some water that I didn’t even take off my coat. All I know is that I swung the pot over the top of the sink and smacked it, hard, directly into the faucet, which most surprisingly went flying across the room and landed on the counter several feet away. This instantly removed any obstacle to the flow of water, and it now shot straight up into the air and came down onto the top of my skull. Stunned into inaction for several seconds as water cascaded off me and onto the floor, I then resorted to pure reflex and pulled the hood of my coat over my head.
One night in that same kitchen, I was cooking dinner for Allison and two of her friends when my oven mitt caught fire. There was something in the toaster oven, and when I reached in to take it out, the tip of the mitt grazed the red hot coils just long enough to ignite. Holding the tray of food, I set it onto the table and only then noticed the flames shooting from my hand. (I’d always thought oven mitts were made of a non-combustible material, but here was clear evidence to the contrary.) As entertained as she’d been by the plumbing mishap, Allison found even greater amusement in this unexpected blaze, her enjoyment enhanced by the company of friends.
* * * * *
I’d have to say the struggle is over now. Allison is a grown woman and we have few reasons to jockey for control, or to take any real pleasure in each other’s inherent goofiness. At the same time, I still feel a wave of anxiety whenever I meet with a bank officer, or see large plants resting on a carpeted floor. I try to go to the supermarket during off-peak hours. When filling a pot of water I take my time, always careful to first remove my coat. And I have some trust issues, especially regarding toaster ovens and small women holding large snakes.
My solution is to defy the experts and their pushy books: I stay inside my comfort zone as much as possible. It really is safer there. I’ve even managed to avoid catching the plague or getting hit by lightning.
So far, anyway.
mirroredImages
January 27, 2011
Favorite: Dragging the plant down the hallway. That has to be up there among the best horrifying parenting moments ever. Though I do think my son’s ability to throw up on command at restaurants or various other crowded places might trump yours for the embarrassment level. And the mental image of you getting rained on in your own kitchen is truly a winner.
About the “Daddy, you’re hurting me” comment: Very smart on her part. Though I once heard a child-rearing expert (read: someone who doesn’t have children, or at least not human ones) say it’s ok to let kids scream and have temper tantrums in public, because giving in to them just reinforces the behavior. This is why I try really hard not to ever take my children shopping.
Great post. Love all the parenting anecdotes. Really, isn’t it a grand ride?
Plus I’m the first to comment!! Do I get a prize?
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
It is a grand ride, and I’m sure every parent has a unique set of stories. I already know you do. Thanks for the comment, Julia.
LikeLike
Earth Ocean Sky Redux
January 27, 2011
So, did Allison grow up to be an auctioneer with her talent for a strong voice? Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think there are too many Help Wanted Ads for Town Crier these days.
Embarrassing moments aside, I’m impressed with ALL you did with her as a dad. That’s what she’ll remember. Really. Three cheers.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
Actually, she’s grown up to be a kindergarten teacher, so her strong voice is no doubt already proving useful.
LikeLike
Jac
January 27, 2011
Another hysterical set of stories, and I can see all the incidents clearly in my mind. What made me laugh the most, though, was “hearing” Allison’s loud voice. I can hear it so well because I have evidence of it on my home movies. Every time I watch one with her in it, I’m thinking “wow, she’s loud!”, not only her voice, but her laugh! But I love it, because we always had so much fun when she came to visit. Of course, I never took her food shopping or to the bank….
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
I think Allison’s voice seemed louder than it really was because she was so little, creating something of a surprise factor. She’s always been very talkative, too. I can remember so many outings in the car with her, when she’d be buckled into the back seat and just chattering away, and at some point I’d realize she’d been talking for the past twenty minutes and I hadn’t heard a word she said. But you know, she reads this blog, so we should probably stop now.
LikeLike
Margaret Reyes Dempsey
January 27, 2011
Oy, wonderful, cringe-worthy stories. I have a few, too. There’s one that could have been really embarrassing but for the angels of mercy.
http://margaretreyesdempsey.wordpress.com/2008/08/24/nature-from-bathroom-wall-scribblings-to-cape-henlopen-dolphins/
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
Just read it and I completely agree. And I’m sure there are plenty more where that came from. Thanks, Margaret!
LikeLike
Val Erde
January 27, 2011
Hmmm… hoods are supposed to keep water off your head, not keep it on it, aren’t they?
And pythons… they are constrictors, they squeeze their prey then swallow them whole. Their prey is (are?) small, usually rodents. Smaller than people, anyway, for all the snake’s size! My sister had one (called Monty, wouldn’t you know!) and it was completely harmless unless one was a rodent. After eating, they usually curl up for a nap. They like being stroked… I think a lot of creatures do.
Now I shall go to wiki and check on my facts. Of course, wiki writers don’t always know their facts, but one’s gotta start somewhere…
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
Yeah, Val, I may have exaggerated just a little about the snake’s eating abilities. But from such close range, it wasn’t hard to imagine.
LikeLike
shoreacres
January 28, 2011
In Liberia, some of the pythons grew so large they would lay across the road with their head on one side and the end of their tail on the other. They were substantial snakes. Many of the Liberian drivers would stop dead and refuse to go on until the snake moved.
The driver of a VW bus explained it this way: “That snake, he bad-o. You go over him, he put his head around one way and his tail the other and pick you up and put you in the ditch bam-bam.”
I always carried a book to wait the snakes out. You were justified.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 28, 2011
I have a memory that I’ve never been able to verify. The day after Mary Jo Kopechne died in Ted Kennedy’s car in July 1969, I read (or believe I read) a story about a farmer in southeast Asia who had been swallowed by a python. The snake was subsequently killed and cut open, and the man was removed whole (dead, obviously, but intact). Because of the Kennedy news and the first Moon landing, the snake story appeared on page 53 or something, and probably went unnoticed by most readers, but I’ve never forgotten it. I think.
LikeLike
souldipper
January 27, 2011
I have a strong, sneaking suspicion that your daughter and you have a very special bond. I’m even willing to bet it has bordered on being conspiratorial and that your wife has a few stories!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
Special, always. Conspiratorial, only when necessary.
LikeLike
notesfromrumbleycottage
January 27, 2011
You know, I have similar stories about my sons. Perhaps I will tell them sometime. Great post.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
And I look forward to reading them.
LikeLike
icedteawithlemon
January 27, 2011
How funny! The potted plant story reminded me of the time one of my sons was sitting amidst several items in my Wal-Mart shopping cart. We were almost to the check-outs when one of the “associates” came up to me with a mop and said, “There you are! I’ve been tracking you all over the store!” My son had (possibly innocently, probably not) opened the lid on a large bottle of Dawn dishwashing liquid, and we had left a blue, slippery trail all the way from beauty supplies to fruits and vegetables.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
You’ve had your share of Wal-Mart adventures, haven’t you? Maybe you should start a new category! This one was my favorite:
LikeLike
Linda Paul
January 27, 2011
It seems she trained you well! This was an hilarious post. I’d never heard of a pot dragger before.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
Neither had I. Thanks for the nice comment.
LikeLike
heidit
January 27, 2011
You have such a fantastic way with words. Thanks for sharing these stories–the good news is, I’m sure there are other fathers who have had similar struggles.
I advise staying in your comfort zone as much as possible. It’s cold outside.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
I’m sure everyone has their share of stories — either from the child’s or the parent’s point of view.
But it isn’t cold in BC, is it?
LikeLike
Allan Douglas
January 27, 2011
Allison sounds like such a dear, cherubic child. It’s a wonder you survived parenthood. I liked the snake story best, probably because I had a similar experience. As a kid I used to play with snakes, so I was pretty sure I’d be able to handle it when my daughter volunteered me for snake holding duty on a school outing. I actually got to wear the snake and I discovered that the way this huge snake was sizing me up was making me distinctly uncomfortable. I had successfully repressed that memory until now. Thanks so much for reanimating it, Charles!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
My pleasure, Allan. If you have any other repressed memories that need loosening, just let me know. (We can always re-fasten them with that duct tape you told me to buy.)
LikeLike
Allan Douglas
January 28, 2011
I’ll send you a catalogue 🙂
LikeLike
Allison
January 27, 2011
Well, I would apologize for putting you in so many awkward situations, but as so many have said here, it’s all part of the experience! I’m not a parent yet (nor will I be anytime soon!), but I can already begin to sympathize after this year. Five year olds are not very tactful (understatement of the year) – I’ve had more than a few of my students say that someone is fat or ask if another teacher is pregnant. Luckily, I still get to send them home to their parents at the end of the day. I guess teaching was a good career choice after all, since I have such a booming voice and the auctioneer job at home was already taken.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
I just want to make it clear that I never brought up the auctioneer job. And speaking of job, shouldn’t you be at work now?
Nice sarcasm, by the way.
LikeLike
Jessica Sieghart
January 27, 2011
Those incidents may have been embarrassing at the time, but I’ll bet that now they just warm your heart and bring a smile to your face. I love the pot dragging story! It reminds me of the time Ariana was about a year old and we were at the mall and between my looking at things and all the shopping bags, I didn’t see her “shoplifting” things and tucking them into the stroller as we walked through the stores. Not once did an alarm go off and she had a newborn baby outfit, several lipsticks and a deodorant in the stroller. I felt like a fool returning all that stuff saying “sorry, my baby’s a shoplifter” but I would have felt too guilty not to take it back. Now it’s a joke between the hubby and me. When I want something I can’t afford he says “Just put Ari in the stroller”. So many stories, so many memories. I think both Allison and you are very lucky people 😉
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
One of the great returns on embarrassment is the number of times we can laugh about it later. It never seems worth the discomfort while it’s happening, but in the long run it usually is. And I’m sure those storeowners at the mall appreciated your honesty.
Allison is definitely lucky. You can’t imagine the incredible grades she got in school, all because of her first name!
http://jessicasieghart.com/2011/01/the-as-have-it/
LikeLike
Snoring Dog Studio
January 27, 2011
Bet you were relieved your daughter didn’t demand that you kiss the snake – you got off kind of easy, Charles! Though I never had kids, I don’t tire of hearing about the funny things they do and say. That joy, that zest, that wonder — we should all hang onto it as long as we can! Loved your post, Charles.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 27, 2011
Any closer and it would have been a kiss.
Thanks, SDS. And congratulations again on being Freshly Pressed! But I think I liked your latest post even more:
http://snoringdogstudio.wordpress.com/2011/01/27/my-2011-flood-buddy/
LikeLike
Betty Londergan
January 27, 2011
SO sweet to see the comment from Allison and realize that she is teaching 5 year-olds … thus completing the circle of payback — and using her booming voice to GOOD purpose! I burst out laughing at the “Daddy, you’re hurting me!” grocery -store tale — because I encountered much the same with my daughter. One afternoon, just as I was closing the door of my Audi 5000, Lulu stuck her hand back in the car to retrieve her stuffed animal or something — and the door shut on her fingers. I was HORRIFIED but luckily, the Audi’s heavy steel doors had a pocket so they didn’t crush little fingers, and she was bruised but pretty much okay … HOWEVER, a few weeks later we were in a crowded parking lot, unpacking our groceries and Lulu decided to holler — “Mom, please don’t slam my fingers in the car door!” — like it was something I did every afternoon. Naturally, everyone looked at me like I was the lowest form of plankton …. oh, parenting!! what a gas!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 28, 2011
Betty, you must have a lot of stories like that, especially as the kids got older. Have you ever thought about writing a book?
LikeLike
Damyanti
January 28, 2011
Thanks for the laughs 🙂
I guess most parents have such hilarious stories to tell, but they don’t all have your felicity with words!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 28, 2011
Thank you, Damyanti. I appreciate that you took the time to wade through such a long post, and leave a nice comment.
LikeLike
shoreacres
January 28, 2011
I left a comment re: the python farther up the page.
My attempt to gain entrance to the toddler hall of fame came when I was about three, and ready to get rolling. I ran away from home. Actually, I ran around the rather large block, with my mother in hot pursuit. I’d stand around and wait, and just as she closed in I’d take off again. She couldn’t let me go, and for whatever reason couldn’t quite catch me. Maybe she was embarassed to flat run.
I ended up in our neighbor’s yard, atop the dirt pile next to their newly-dug basement. I clambered up and proceeded to throw dirt clods at my mother, shrieking with delight.
I have no recollection of being punished, but neither mom nor I goes more than six months without one of us mentioning the incident. 😉
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 28, 2011
It sounds as though you were more than ready to get rolling. It’s also apparent that you’ve both gotten your money’s worth out of that adventure. Memories like that are one of the best parts of life.
LikeLike
Amiable Amiable
January 28, 2011
Laughing out loud again, particularly at “You’re hurting me!” and the Oscar-winning canned peaches performance. I love the comment from Allison and her sense of humor, obviously due in no small part to you.
I’ve had to suck it up for a tarantula at the Audubon, and you can imagine the Oscar-worthy performance I managed for that. You really took one for the team with that snake!
The plant story, which also cracked me up, reminded me of the time I made the mistake of wheeling my youngest’s stroller into a parking spot beside an ashtray outside of a Disney store at the mall. After I had bent down to get something from the diaper bag beneath the stroller, I looked up to find him with a cigarette butt freshly plucked from the tray hanging out of a corner of his mouth like a mini James Dean. Can you spell h-o-r-r-i-f-i-e-d? And that was the look on the faces of the shoppers who thought I intentionally put him within arms reach of the ashtray. There really isn’t a word to describe the look on my face. And then, of course, there was the oldest yelling, “Stephen’s smoking a cigarette!”
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 28, 2011
In a way, you’re lucky, AA. If that had happened now, it would’ve been all over the Internet before you got home. Did you hold the tarantula? Maybe you should start a new category on your blog called “My Eight-Legged Stories.” What do you think?
LikeLike
Amiable Amiable
January 28, 2011
HOLD the tarantula? I could barely look at it! Unlike you, I have no pride and would have easily let down my children if I had been asked to handle the thing. You are a good parent. I am not.
I was trying to enjoy my lunch while reading posts. “My Eight-Legged Stories” killed my appetite, but I thank you for that because I really have to drop some pounds before Mexico.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 29, 2011
If we’re going to discuss the killing of appetites, I’d say I still owe you a few. And I doubt anyone would agree with your parenting self-assessment. (Except for giving cigarettes to your little boy, of course.)
LikeLike
magsx2
January 28, 2011
Hi,
What a great post, and I’m still laughing, but again I have learned something, be very careful with oven mitts. 🙂
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 28, 2011
Speaking of learning something, I really liked your latest post.
Thanks, magsx2!
LikeLike
Melinda
January 28, 2011
What great stories!! Poor you and that snake! I wouldn’t have even been able to fake touching it because I would have been on the floor passed out. LOL the plant trail. Kids sure give us great moments to look back on and laugh. This was priceless. I bet she enjoyed reading it, too.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 29, 2011
Thank you for the nice comment, Melinda. Another fifteen seconds with the snake and I might’ve passed out, too. And yes, kids give us plenty of stories to laugh about; your blog is always proof of that.
http://www.findingthehumor.com/
LikeLike
Marie M
January 29, 2011
Here I am again, treating myself to a good read at midnight just before bed. I did lots of laughing at your anecdotes–so I expect that in a couple of hours, either I’ll have sweet and silly dreams of my own wonderful children, or I’ll be tortured by terrible and traumatic tales of parenting gone horribly wrong–none too far from the truth, probably. Thanks in spite of that possibility: it was worth it!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 29, 2011
I hope your dreams went more in the direction of sweet and silly. There’s plenty of time for terrible and traumatic when we’re awake.
LikeLike
arborfamiliae
January 29, 2011
Great post, Charles. As I read this post and all the wonderful comments, I was thinking of several moments in my decade of parenting. I had a few picked out to highlight in my comment, and then the thought crossed my mind: “I wonder what my parents would write if they were blogging about their experience of child-rearing.”
My brain immediately derailed as I thought of all my childhood moments that probably created enormous anxiety and chronic fears in my own parents. I was left to hope and pray that my parents never decide to blog.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 29, 2011
You could always write about your own childhood, and beat them to it. I think it would make a great addition to your already excellent blog.
LikeLike
Mitch Mitchell
January 29, 2011
I laughed out loud at this line: “You can make this easy, or you can make it hard. It’s all the same to me.” Then I looked around to see if anyone in the house had heard me, as my wife has company. It’s stories like these that make me both happy and sad at the same time that I didn’t have kids.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 30, 2011
I’ve often thought about the things you have to put up with as a parent, and how you wouldn’t take that stuff from anyone else, ever, under any circumstances. Most people who have kids manage to raise them, do all of the things that have to get done, endure the rough spots, and somehow everyone survives. I think it’s pretty amazing.
LikeLike
Artswebshow
January 30, 2011
lol, some very entertaining stories from your past here.
The fat woman one must have been so awkward. lol
LikeLike
bronxboy55
January 30, 2011
All pretty awkward, but worth the effort, too. Thanks for the comment.
LikeLike
Mitchell Allen
January 31, 2011
Charles, what a giggle-fest! I love this recollection.
I was chuckling loudly before I got to the fat lady comment. When I read Allison’s innocent words, I totally lost it. Especially when she repeated it! As if to say, hey! I’m talking to you!
My daughter never gave me any trouble. She’s sixteen now so, of course, she questions everything I say. Surprisingly, she does it in the most mature, lady-like way. I almost say stupid stuff on purpose, just to see what her reaction is going to be. From football to food additives, she reacts!
Cheers,
Mitch
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 1, 2011
Your daughter is sixteen and questions everything you say? I’m shocked. You’re familiar with the Mark Twain quote, I’m sure:
“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have him around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”
I don’t know if Twain really said that, but it’s still one of my favorite quotes. Thanks, Mitch!
LikeLike
Mitchell Allen
February 1, 2011
Oh my god! I never heard that one before, Charles. That is hilarious!
Unfortunately, I do tend to throw out some B.S. just to see what she’ll say.
My favorite thing to do is to make a totally ignorant comment about something on a commercial. The thing is, a lot of times, she’ll agree with me. But when she doesn’t…
Cheers,
Mitch
LikeLike
Val Erde
January 31, 2011
Something for you here!
🙂
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 1, 2011
Thanks, Val!
LikeLike
cooperstownersincanada
February 1, 2011
Some truly hilarious escapades in this piece, Charlies. Ah, the travails of parenthood. Thanks for sharing this.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 2, 2011
Thanks for reading it, Kevin, and for the kind words.
LikeLike
abitha
July 1, 2012
Hi Charles…You have a charming way with words and such wonderful story telling ability! Kudos to that. Yes, Kids tend to get a tight hold on whatever their tiny precious fingers grab hold of and it requires a lot of cajoling to get them to loosen the hold…loved this post very very very much. Will keep coming back for more!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
July 3, 2012
Thank you, abitha. I appreciate your extremely kind words, and I’m glad you liked the post.
LikeLike
abitha
July 3, 2012
Hi Charles, It’s a pleasure responding to someone who so promptly responds back. I also noticed you are the kind one to have visited my blog. My recent attempts have been at lyrics that need a long way to go, just trying something out of comfort zone for the sake of it 🙂 You may want to check this one out as in I read one from a dad’s perspective, here is one from a child’s perspective and how we need to be curious and learn as much as we can while growing up sometimes landing ourselves in ridiculously dangerous situations…hope you like the effort. http://wp.me/pJDs-8 Thanks for the interaction.
LikeLike
abitha
July 3, 2012
This particular post is on my facebook status as I wanted to share this with all my friends with kids 🙂 and ofcourse because its makes such a good read…Cheers!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
September 27, 2012
Thanks again, abitha. Sorry it took me so long to reply this time!
LikeLike
abitha
October 3, 2012
No hassles 🙂 Do keep in touch, from your recent posts realize your daughter’s big day kept you busy…very sweet the way you describe her and your nostalgic moments with her growing up…love reading it!
LikeLike