This Morning . . .

“I have a great idea, Daddy,” she says with earnestness as she stirs her oatmeal.

“What’s that,” I ask, shoving cereal into my mouth.

“We should stick together.”

I’m confused as to why a two-year-old would tell me we should stick together. It sounds like something Zero Mostel would tell me. “You and me kid, we should stick together. We’ll go a long way in this business.”

Okay. I’ll bite.

“That sounds like a great idea, honey. What made you think of that?”

“It’s for my work,” she answers without hesitation. And with that she hopped down from her chair and put her bowl in the sink. Say what you will about the little nut, she has good manners.

“Oh. Okay,” I said awkwardly.

But I knew what was going on. I finally saw Kill Bill this weekend. Baby assassin. I get it. You see, baby assassins are unexpected, unnerving. They can move quickly, and are difficult to catch. Even if you can get your hands on them, if a two-year-old doesn’t want to be picked up, she will not be picked up. Two-year-olds have perfected a move in civil disobedience that protesters world wide have been trying, and failing, to copy for years. Pick up a two-year-old who does not want to be picked up and it’s like trying to catch sentient Jell-O.

I knew she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She was off to watch TV. Or so I thought. Maybe she was receiving the briefing for her next meet.

All I know is that this morning, she essentially told me, “Dad, when the shit comes down, stick with me.”

Of course, this weekend she told me she didn’t love me anymore. She quickly changed her mind and said she loved me a little bit. But when she wanted a cup of chocolate milk, she said I was the best daddy in the world.

Assassins. They shouldn’t love, it compromises their jobs. But they’d violate their code for a cup of chocolate milk.

New Information Has Come to Light, Man