Friday, September 20, 2013

Talking 'Bout My Madeleina...

Madeleina, my beautiful 16-year-old daughter, keeps me on my toes. Earlier tonight, after I'd put a beautiful eggplant parmesan in the oven--she's finally old enough to have some things that taste differently from what she's used to, and eggplant, while I love it, is not something an Irish-Indigenous kid grows up with--I told her to get out a table cloth, put on a couple of candles and look for the good silverware.
   "Dad, are we eating before or after you come down from that high you're on?" she asked.
   Tough one.
   Then she whacked me, hard, in the upper right arm--the one that's still black and blue after having had the IV tube to my heart taken out earlier in the week--and said, "Oh, and you know, if this eggplant thing sucks, or if it's good but it sucks because you messed it up, well, I'll just have to kill you while you sleep."
   Tough girl.
   And now, after sitting on the porch swing in the encroaching darkness, watching cars go by on road out front, we came in and I told her I'd gotten my Houston Press Club trophies and that she should open the boxes.
    "Dad, this is just second place for Print Journalist of the Year for Texas," she said. "That means you're a loser. I'm still proud of you, dad, and I love you, but maybe we should move to Canada. They have less journalists there. Maybe you could win there, instead of getting second place. Because, like I said, that makes you a loser."
    You don't think I love that girl? She's the best! She adores me enough to keep me on point and knows exactly how to give me a compliment. That's my baby. And I'm glad she is.

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