My daughter and I were sitting in the food court at the local mall. I was reading the newest edition of Noam Chomskey?s essays on the relationship between American Imperialism and Norwegian Fetish Porn, when my daughter peered out to the crowd and pointed her small finger.
?Daddy,? she said, in her soft little girl voice. ?Daddy, there sure do be a lot of fucking assholes in this mall.?
?Honey,? I whispered frantically over the top of my book, hoping in dread that no one had heard her. ?That is NOT language a little girl should use!?
She paused a moment in quiet reflection. It made me proud that she was going over our conversation to see what had prompted my displeasure.
?Daddy,? she said slowly, measuring every word.
?Daddy, There sure are a lot of fucking assholes in this mall.?
I smiled a warm fatherly smile and nodded my head. ? Indeed,? I agreed, patting her hand. ?There most assuredly ARE a lot of fucking assholes in this mall.? I went back to my book and she took a sip of her orange juice.
?Cocksucking bastards, too?? She asked, her eyes growing wide.
I nodded indulgently and continued reading.
?Daddy,? she said. When I didn?t reply, she repeated herself in a sterner voice, ?Daddy!?
I sighed and put down my book, carefull not to let her see the pictures of Chomskey demonstrating a Manhattan Transfer on a well-known Norwegian actress. ?Yes dear,? I sighed. ?What would you like??
She looked at my book on the table and tried to read the title. She scrunched her eyebrows up and concentrated on reading the words, which were upside down from where she sat. ?Daddy, what is that book about??
?Well, dear? I said. ?This book is about grown up things. Things you will probably learn in college.?
?Fuck that shit, motherfucker? She giggled. ?I need college like an elephant needs a larger fucking ball-sack! I?m going to go on Oprah and tell the world I?m a lesbian!?
Now, I know there are people out there that would let a comment like that slide. Sloppy parenting is the easy route, and I try not to succumb to the temptation of letting my daughter away with saying such things.
?Honey,? I said severely. ?You most assuredly are NOT going on Oprah to tell the world you are a lesbian! Imagine!?
She was absolutely crestfallen. I thought she was going to cry, but she bravely choked back her tears and took a large gulp of Orange juice.
?Jerry?? She whispered.
?You, young lady,? I reminded her, ?Are going to have a bit more class than that! Oprah is a darkey, and I?m fairly certain that Mr. Springer is a Jew. You can go on Jenny Jones to talk about your sexual preferences when you are older. And I don?t even want to HEAR about Montel Williams, is that understood??
She nodded and gave me a brave smile.
When we were finished our lunch, we took our trays to the garbage, where a homeless man was muttering to himself. My daughter tugged at my sleeve as I began to empty our tray into the bin.
?Daddy,? she asked, her eyes sparkling. ?Do you think we could give that homeless man our leftovers or some spare change??
I looked at my daughter. She looked at me. When neither of us could take it anymore, we both broke out into loud, happy laughter. We waved to the homeless man as we left the mall, still laughing at our private little joke.
I felt like the best dad in the world.
