Daddy, Why Are You Wearing Make-up?


Daddy, Why Are You Wearing Make-up?

There is nothing like being chastised by a five year-old first thing in the morning. Barely awake, semi groggy and in need of my caffiene drip I rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom. I didn’t make it more than ten feet when I was grabbed in a bear hug by the dark haired beauty.

Five years-old and going on 30 she reached tugged on my hand and told me to bend over and kiss her good morning. I was only too happy to oblige, the girl gives great hugs and I am a sucker for her. What I didn’t expect was the reaction that came with it.

During a pick up basketball game this week I took an elbow to the head and received a black eye. Well, it is not exactly black now. At the moment it is closer to purple, blue and black. She took one look and exclaimed, “Daddy, why are you wearing makeup!”

Since I was half awake it took a moment to realize what she was looking at. I must have stared at her for a moment because she put her hands on her hips and told me that she wanted an answer. I smiled and told her that it wasn’t make up. As I explained what happened to me she shook her head and told me that she doesn’t want me to play with boys because they play too rough.

I laughed and told her that I don’t play with boys. I play with men. As I said “men” I growled and then picked her up and twirled her around. She squealed with laughter and told me to hold still. With a very serious expression on her face she kissed my eye and then told me that she doesn’t want me to play anymore.

So I thanked her for her concern and told her that I am a big boy and I can make my own decisions now. This did not go over well and she told me that I always get hurt. I shook my head and gave her a list of my injuries.

In more than 25 years of basketball I have had very few injuries. One broken ankle, one broken nose, one dislocated finger, a few jammed fingers and two black eyes. Now mind you that I broke my ankle when I was 20. I received the first black eye three years ago and the dislocated finger about 18 months ago.

As I sat there rattling off the list of injuries and ailments I started to laugh. What the hell am I doing arguing with a five-year-old about this. I love the dark haired beauty, but at five she thinks that a week is forever, telling her about injuries from twenty years ago is ridiculous.

Slowly lowering myself to one knee I thanked her for her concern and told her that I appreciated it. And then she proved that she has been listening to me. With a plain expression on her face she looked me in the eye and told me that I can ignore her, but I am not going to like the consequences of my actions.

I can’t wait until she is a teenager, life is going to become so much more fun and interesting. 😉

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