Ahhh ... Dads and lads. A sure formula for disaster. Especially when one of them is three years old and the other acts like he is.
So anyway, the game is "Chase" and every Dad and every lad who's ever had a Dad has played it. I chase you through the house then you chase me through the house and I jump out from some unexpected hiding place and scare the bejabbers out of you and you scream and you laugh really, really hard and you try not to wet your pants and sometimes you're successful and sometimes you're not.
We join this game already in progress: Junior is the pursuer and Dad is the pursuee. Dad, taking full advantage of his longer stride, quickly outdistances junior, makes his break up the stairs to the second floor, disappears around the corner, finds a great hidey-hole, hunkers down and backs into it.
Junior, running as fast as this three-year old legs will carry him, clump, clump, clumps up the stairs one at time - huffing and puffing and laughing all the way. Finally he gains the landing where he spies his t-ball tee. He stops, grabs this two-foot long PVC pipe with both hands, yanks it out of its socket, turns, selects afterburner and ... fight's on! Junior, now armed and dangerous, is back up to full speed in a heartbeat and roaring down the hallway in hot pursuit. Dad, of course, hears him coming and, timing it perfectly, growls just like a lion and jumps out in front of Junior right before he gets to the corner. Well, it worked great - Junior goes freeze-frame. He stops in mid-air. Scared to death. Eyes wide, he locks both his knees, lands with his feet apart, manages not to widdle, tightens his grip on that pipe he was carrying, closes his eyes, steps forward and swings for the fence. Whammo! Dug a divot out of Dads hairline that took six stitches to close.
Mom (who's something of a party-poop) has restricted the entire clan to jigsaw puzzles and board games until Santa brings Dad a catcher's mask for Christmas.
Snarfed from a Safety newsletter. Just too funny.
Not active yet ..