Reading my son bedtime stories

My son’ s grown up now, and he has a remarkably wonderful, twisted sense of humor.  Our daily text messages are a testament to that.

For Mike, I think the humor trait started when he was very young.

Every night, he would get  into his Doctor Dentons and jump into bed.
I would have a selection of books for him to pick from.  He usually liked The Pokey Little Puppy, Pretzel, or any of the Dr. Seuss books.

The pokey little puppy learned valuable lessons about life that could transfer to MIke. 

But also, tragically, the pokey puppy would experience unspeakable horror at the story’s conclusion.

“And so, the pokey little puppy was hit by a truck and that’s the end of the story.”

“Mommmm!  Dad’s messing up the story.”

My wife would come charging in from the living room, totally pissed.

Glaring at me, she’d say, “I want him to go to sleep, and you are NOT making that happen.”

I sheepishly apologized and grabbed a Dr. Seuss book that had to do with the whos of Whoville.

Read it straight for a bit.  But I couldn’t keep it going.

“And a tornado came and sucked up all the whos and that’s the end of the story.”

“Mommmmmmm!”

At this point my wife was beyond furious.  She handed me a book of Baby Jesus stories, and dared me to screw them up.

So I read a few baby Jesus stories straight, then, despite the flames of hell licking my soles,  innocently remarked that it was so interesting that the infant Jesus had a beard.

“Dad’s messing up again. He said Baby Jesus had a beard.”

I was soooo done for the night.   I was kicked out of Mike’s room, with orders not to return.

Looking back, I don’t think what I did was so awful.  He turned out just fine.

But, I wonder if he will read to his kids.

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