And now for an urban legend that turns out to be true:
My Dad tells a story that sounds like it came straight from one of those “How to Raise a Strong-willed Child” books.
It goes like this:
I was around 3-years-old and had done something bad/mean to my Dad. He told me to apologize. I refused. He said I couldn’t leave the living room until I said I was sorry. So I stood in front of him and we just looked at each other – the 3-year-old with a ‘tude and the young dad who was not loosing this battle – for about 30 minutes. Not sure who gave in first, but seriously! I always assumed that story must’ve been pretty exaggerated… until Monday night. Now I have my own version.
Kingston was mad and threw a harmonica at Anderson. (Ha! I know!) I was in the kitchen watching the whole scene. Anderson told Kingston to apologize. He wouldn’t. This went on for what felt like days. Then this happened:
Anderson: “Kingston, say ‘Dadda’….”
Anderson kind of gave up after for-ev-er. So I went to talk to Kingston. The voice of reason. He told me he wanted to go to time out. So he did. I said he could leave time out when he was ready to apologize. Fifteen minutes later he wanted to talk to Dadda. So Anderson goes to the time out chair and says, “Do you have something to tell me?” Kingston says, “Yes. That table over there has a camera and a picture on it.” I was laughing so hard in the kitchen that I had to cover my mouth. I mean, this kid is good! So they go through the whole “Dadda, I’m sssssssss…” thing a few more times, and he finally whispers in the softest voice ever, “Sorry.”
I was like, “Give him a cookie. He said he’s sorry. And give me one too.”
People, I am raising myself.
This is going to be a long 15 years. ;)