A while back, when Frank started talking, I started jotting down some of his more memorable observations. It’s been almost a year since the last installment of Frank’s musings. His vocabulary has grown, as has his southern accent, and his saltiness. Those damn kids at pre-school!
Anyway, the following is what I have culled from the list and feel can be printed on this semi-family friendly blog.
How’s that sound good.
This is what he says when he’s trying to make deals; either to go outside, stay up late, or watch TV. You have to say that just as you read it. It’s not a question and there is no pause between sound and good. When Frank says it, it’s purely a statement.
We can’t play tennis, we don’t have our bellies.
This might be my favorite. We went to a local par 3 golf course instead of our normal track and there was a tennis court off to one side. A couple of older, very overweight lads were “playing” tennis with their shirts off, and they really should not have had their shirts off. We finish our round and are heading to the car when Frank decides he wants to play tennis. We walk down to the court where he thinks some rackets may be and says, “We can’t play tennis Daddy. We don’t have our bellies.” Took me a second to catch on to Frank’s drift because we saw the Hefty Brothers almost two hours ago.
Look daddy, I’m flying converted!
I take it back, this is my favorite. Frank was flying one of his planes around the house and turned it upside down. I looked and just said, “Hey Frank you’re flying inverted.” He looked at me and moved on, unimpressed with my aerodynamic knowledge. On his second pass through the kitchen he says. “Look daddy, I’m flying converted!” Not sure if he’s referring to his plane or he’s given up on being a Presbyterian already.
I hit it farther than you!
This was a constant theme on our last foray to the golf course. Highly inaccurate, he only hit it past me once. But he trashed talked me the entire 18 holes.
No, those are your friends, I can’t like them.
A few friends of mine helped me rebuild my deck. The day we started I told Frank he could help. When he came into the back yard he turned around and headed back for the garage. He said he couldn’t help because those were my friends and he couldn’t like them.
I have a small penis!
Ah, with potty training comes awareness. We brought this on ourselves I think. Tracy taught him the proper names for stuff, like she was taught, instead of letting him learn it on the street like I was taught. So we get “I have a small penis!’ Shouted with exuberance and pride. And of course since he’s very literal, he equated the size of each penis to the size of each person. From that we got a 4 year old marching into the living room to declare that he has a small penis, mommy has a bigger penis, and daddy has the biggest penis.
Look, I’m not wild about him chucking the word penis around, but I’m not one to argue with perfectly valid facts.
Daddy you’re a dick.
He chucked this gem out at the dinner table. He’s probably not wrong but I knew he had no idea what he was saying. In fact we had him repeat it about 5 times and we’re still not sure that’s what he said. I can tell you he did not learn that from me. That is not one of my normal epithets.
This may be one of the few times we can honestly say he got that from the school yard. When he starts using the “F” word properly in a sentence as either a noun, verb, adverb, or adjective, or all four at once, then you know he’s repeating something from me.
I guess it runs in the family.