Like Father, Like…

It has to be said that my children are a special… well, they are just special (if you get my drift).

They have both gone through a lot in their lives. To start, well, I’m their dad, so.. BOOM! But as of recently, they have had some personal hardships that have caused them to see me in a different light. Either that, or they finally hit that age that Mark Twain once spoke about…

“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”

― Mark Twain

That being said, I am quite enjoying this trying time in their lives. Yeah, I’m a bit messed up in the fact that I relish in their agony… look, I never said I was the…

However, in enjoying their current circumstances, there come times when we just connect. Mainly because my son and daughter have both fulfilled the “Cat’s in the Cradle” prophecy and they’ve ‘grown up just like me, yeah my ~~boy~~ kids ~~was~~ are just like me.’

On the surface, I’m sure people can agree, that’s not entirely a bad thing. Not entirely. As some of you know from previous posts about my children, their inheritance (pre-mortem) of my snark and cynicism has created many an occasion for me to sit back and smugly enjoy the creations they have become.

Which brings me to the reason for writing this post.

My daughter. The joy and light of my life. The beautiful, graceful, pleasant and oh so wonderful female child of mine. The one who… yeah, I can’t go on. She’s a brat. Pure and simple. Yep, she reads this (or at least she tells me she does), and she knows that even though I think she is a gorgeous young lady, she has the spit and fire to roast another person alive if not for the “You’re lucky I love Jesus” motto she lives by. I do believe that if not for that particular aspect of her faith, there might actually be a body trail behind her (some of whom may or may not have been slain by her brother and I).

And hence, when something irritates her, she makes comments. Today was one of those days. Someone said/posted/made known something that just hit every button she has. She made a comment about it, and I responded back to her. Our 5 minutes text back and forth just created such an entertaining banter that I felt the need to share, at least in general, the comments that she made to me: