My kids are going to grow up so well adjusted. Here's another tale for the "I'm a bad Dad" collection.

Over the weekend, I took some time to play with Clone. He had a bunch of little plastic Cowboys and Indians spread out across the floor. (Think little green army men.) It started with him picking up an Indian with a bow and saying, “My Guy”. So I picked up a cowboy that looked like he was about to gut shoot someone and said, “Mine!” Grinning, Clone picks up another Indian, this time he has a spear with feathers. My next choice was another cowboy aiming/shooting a pistol. Looking over the pile, Clone picks up an Indian with a tomahawk. I look at the pile and see an Indian with a rifle; I pick him for my team.

Clone tells me, “No, dada. You pick cowboy.”

Me, “What? No, this is Squatchmo. He’s a traitor to his people and works a guide/tracker for my cowboys. We bought him off with firewater and a rifle. Now he takes us around to where all the Indians hide.”

Clone looks at me nods his head and picks up a cowboy, “Dada, Traitor bring Indian rifle.”

I laughed so hard I almost passed out. Ktreva comes running in to see what all the ruckus is. When I tell her what happens she advised me IÂ’m not allowed to give Clone history lessons while IÂ’ve been drinking Jack Daniels.

Posted by: Contagion at 04:59 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
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