Nick(laus)names.

My son (the 5-year-old golfer) and I were watching the early coverage of the Masters and I was trying to impress upon him the significance of what Jack Nicklaus has accomplished through his career.  I also told him that I almost named him John after my grandfather ... who naturally was always called "Jack". After all that, I told him that, if he wanted, maybe Jack could be his nickname out on the golf course. Then his brow furrowed. Little thoughts entering his head.
Boy: But I thought I already had a nickname.
Me: What was that?
Boy: Stinkbucket.

When You Wish.

It's past the mid-point of our brief Florida vacation and we go to Dunkin Donuts to get bagels and muffins for breakfast. The shop is in a kind of strip mall and there's an open air section and an .. it's hard to describe - acoustic bubble of some kind, a giant upside down bowl painted blue as the sky which has the pleasantly surprising effect of amplifying and echoing your voice as you move and speak underneath. It took me quite by surprise. The other thing there is a fountain and the Boy asks for change to make a wish. We all throw in some change and (against the superstition), compare wishes.

Me: I wished for more vacations like this one.

Boy: I wished for palm trees to have ice cream on top. But I almost wished for you not to watch Sportscenter every morning.

Which Way to the Beach?

We're on a mini-vaction in South Florida. I think the Boy's enjoying himself. I think he likes it here. As we all get ready to go out to the beach, naturally the first one ready is the Boy - because Mamma and I spend our initial energy getting him all geared up. It doesn't take us long to get ourselves ready, but there's the Boy at the motel room door, hopping anxiously from foot to foot, eager to get going. 

Boy: Are you ready yet?

Me: Yes.

Boy: Then let's rock!

Master's Week In Florida: The Back Side

He's developing into a very cuddly Boy. Loves to have his back rubbed. It's an integral part of the going-to-bed process now. The other night as I'm out golfing under the lights in South Florida, and the Boy is being put to bed with Mamma, he took it up a knotch.

Boy: Scratch my bum.

Mamma complies.

Boy: No, the other one.