100 Things About Me #113

The Good Father
Every one-year-old toddler on his first trip to the beach loves to be swooped up inexplicably by his father and dangled high above the Atlantic Ocean.

"Michael, would you like to swim with the fishies?" he asked.

I squealed discontent. I didn't want to play Marco Polo with them either.

My father was making a joke about organized crime. I would never wish to belly flop with fish.

It was the '50s. Who in their right mind would welcome a baggy cement overcoat with those hideous pleats?

Besides, I know my family and the sea. Just when I thought that I was out, they push me back in.

"Yeah," Billy cheered. "Throw him to the fishies!"

My other sibling seconded the resolution.

This was the moment I chose to speak my first words. I turned my face to the right and said: "Bob-o, you're my older brother and I love you, but don't ever take sides with anyone against the family again. Ever."

"I like to drink wine more than I used to," added my father.

"It's good for ya, Pop." I said.

"Anyway, I'm drinkin' more," Pop said.

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With groveling apologies to the Corleones.
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