Skip to main content

Make love, not war ... except with the Cardinals

Let me say this first: I don't want Willow to hate anyone.
I want her to respect other folks regardless of race, creed, politics and nationality. I guess you can say I want her to live up to her hippie name, love and peace and harmony and all that.
But let's be real here. My love can go only so far, and even though I want her to be a better person than I am, I wouldn't begrudge her this one little hate that I have.
Yes.
I want her to hate the St. Louis Cardinals.
Stop snickering. This is serious.
I don't care if she roots for the Yankees or the Braves. I'll be fine if she roots for the Volunteers or the Gators. Heck, I'll even be OK if she stands behind the Blue Devils or the Tar Heels (I'll grit my teeth the whole time, though).
But I will not tolerate any good feelings toward the St. Louis Cardinals, the team that boils my blood. Let's put it this way: If the unimaginable Reds' loss to the Giants (who were dead and buried, by the way) opened a gaping wound in my gut, then the Cardinals' unimaginable Cards' win over the Nationals was the mountain of salt sizzling atop my wound.
I hate the Cardinals.
And I hope my daughter does too.
If that makes me a poor parent, so be it.
OK. OK. OK.
I'm not going to banish my daughter for liking the Cardinals, but if she does, I know one thing ... I will weep myself to sleep every night.

Comments

  1. If such a dread thing occurs, we'll come get her to watch Cardinals games with us.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Good luck to your Cardinals, I guess ... sigh ...

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

With baby comes packing (and a lot of it)

Willow, Che and I are traveling to see the grandparents, aunts, cousins and Mos (or is it Moes or is it Mo's or is it Moses?) in Henderson, Tenn., this weekend. And that brings up one of the big differences between being a couple without kids and being a couple with kids: packing for travel (they even have an app for that, God bless us packing-weary parents). Back in my pre-child days, packing hardly mattered, probably taking up 1 zillionth of a tenth of a percent of my brain capacity to do (six days equals six days of socks and underwear plus some T-shirts, some shorts, a pair or two of pants, put on some shoes, throw in some toothpaste, and I was off). That's hardly the case anymore. Take, for example, if you have a spit-up-prone baby. Do you take two burp clothes, four, eight or, maybe, 16? Better take 24. And how many diapers do you take? Or wipes? Do I need to take baby medicine? Is it going to be cold or warm or cold and warm or warm and hot then ... AACK!!! You get t...

Willow's morning of play, play, play exhausts poor, old Dad

Willow's playtime universe continues to grow. Rapidly. Witness. In the midsummer heat, I take Willow out to our shaded backyard in the morning to play. And play she does. She climbed into her swing first. After I pushed her for a while, I got her out of the swing and put her in her wagon so she could help me convey bags of sand from the garage to the backyard to fill her sandbox (part of her new swing set) and her water table sandbox. She took rake and shovel and played in the sandbox for a bit. Then she waddled over to the deck and started to climb the steps to get to the water table. She played in the sand a bit, but most of her time was used dipping water up and out of the water part of the water table. Most the water ended up all over her. After that she wanted off the deck to go back to swinging. Instead I retrieved the new tricycle Cherish procured from a Franklin recycle center and cleaned it up. Willow loved the trike, holding on to the handle bars while I pushed her...

Willow's tooth-brushing goes from rocky to rocking

Willow has been giving us fits for months now about brushing her teeth before bed. She's usually better brushing her teeth in the morning, meaning it's less like wrestling an alligator for me, but at night before bed, she turns into the Tasmanian Devil. We've tried making the tooth-brushing as fun as possible for her, but I usually end up holding her against her will while I try, mostly in vain, to pry the toothbrush into her clamped-shut mouth. Sometimes we give up. We've tried singing to her. Dancing. Story-telling. Tickling. Nothing has really worked. But Mommy might have hit on the solution. A singing toothbrush. Yesterday Mommy brought home a toothbrush that belts out Queen singing "We Will Rock You." This toothbrush ROCKS! And Willow loves it. We tried it out last night, and on the inaugural brushing, Willow brushed her teeth successfully all by herself. She danced the whole time too. And I stayed bruise free (I also, surprisingly, had more energ...