Thursday, December 6th, 2012
You have no desire for tea parties.
The thought of you pretending to drink tea and eat delicate crumpets with me while we sit at your Thomas the Train folding table… well, you would just try to wreck the party by plowing through the tea cups with your 4×4 monster school bus or your army of trains.
“Daddy, sit.” That’s what you tell me when you want me to play cars with you at your play table.
You are wired to choose action involving crashes and messes, not role-playing a sophisticated brunch.
Right now our version of having a tea party is pretending to be worried after a train falls off the table, serving as a cliff, because one of us deliberately pushed the thing off the edge. (That plot line is then repeated about 23 times.)
I have great plans for us, Son.
Eventually our “tea parties” will turn into us playing gentlemen’s games like chess, where sitting across the table from each other, we shall sharpen our strategic skills.
From there, we will move up to me teaching you to solve the Rubik’s Cube. We’ll see if you can find a way to beat my own average solve time of 3 minutes, 20 seconds.
Yes, you and I are usually pretty physically rough when we play.
Sometimes you ride on my back as I crawl across the carpet, pretending to be a hungry and angry lion, attempting to shrug you off and eat you for dinner.
Other times you want me to scare you as I hide in the corner, pretend to sleep, then suddenly jump up and act like I am smothering you as I gently lay on top of you, putting all my body weight on the floor, and none of it on you.
But for the times you feel like playing like a gentleman, we take out all that aggressive action on your toys.
Either way, we don’t do tea parties, we do demolition parties.
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