Humor: A daddy goes belly-up again

A daddy goes belly-up again

I want to state categorically that I never, ever flash my belly button while I am playing Pick-Up Sticks.

Yet this is how my son Jack, 5, portrayed me in some artwork he brought home from school last week.

It was a piece of paper which carried the writing: "I love my daddy because he plays Pick-Up Sticks with me."
The words accompanied an illustration (reproduced below, right) of two people, presumably Jack and yours truly, lying down playing Pick-Up Sticks.

I cannot pretend that I looooove playing Pick-Up Sticks.
It does, however, provide a reasonable alternative to some other activities Jack wants to involve me in.

Like the other day:
"Why can't we put the tent up in the backyard and sleep in it?" Jack wanted to know.

"Because winter finished less than two weeks ago and it's still cold out there," I said, digging in my heels.
I have to dig in my heels because I know that if I give in and sleep with him in a tent in the backyard, next week he will want to go camping in the Himalayas or Antarctica.

It is not my fault that, at 42, I am neither adventurous nor athletic.

Last Wednesday, Jack's class had a Father's Day celebration.
For me, the highlight of this function was a sausage sizzle and the lowlight was a father-son foot race.

The fathers lined up together and had to run 20 or 30 yards to where their children were waiting and run back to them to the finish line.
History will record (or perhaps it won't because the international spotlight last week was really on Michael Johnson's last competitive race in Brisbane) that Jack and I came last by a very long way.
Whereas many other fathers picked up their children and carried them on the return trip, I waddled down the first leg as my rivals disappeared into the distance and Jack, who shows early signs of athleticism, grabbed my hand and dragged me, legs creaking, to the finish line.

I thought: "Gee, I'm glad that's over."

But then someone announced that we had to line up for a sack race.

"Don't worry, daddy," Jack said, obviously, sensing my fear of making more of a fool of myself. "We don't have to go in this one."
That was touching.
A less diplomatic child might have said: "Daddy, you are the weakest link. Get lost. Goodbye."

Still, I was not surprised the next day when the artwork Jack brought home from school the next day did not say: "I love my daddy because he runs very fast."

The Pick-Up Sticks game is one of the few athletic pursuits that Jack and I do together.
We usually play on the lounge-room floor.
The object of the game is to remove yellow, red, blue, green and black sticks, all about four or five inches long, from a pile without disturbing any of the others.
Each colour has a value and the person who accumulates the biggest score wins.

Jack beats me every time.
I put that down to him being closer to the ground and having smaller, more nimble fingers.

Jack is also proving to be quite a nimble little artist - which is another skill I never mastered.
Neither did Katherine.

We are a little bit perplexed though about Jack's habit of always drawing people with belly buttons clearly in view, whether they are appropriate or not.
It seems to be some kind of signature style; his belly-button period.
Worse, he thinks everyone should draw people with belly buttons.

Jack asked me to draw a pirate the other day and I obliged with my very best stick figure.

But was that good enough for Jack?

Nooooooo.

"He hasn't got a belly button, daddy!" he protested. "And there's no room for one either."

"Jack, I don't think pirates make a habit of flashing their belly buttons," I said.

And neither, I must say again, do I when I play Pick-Up Sticks.

©September 10, 2001 John Martin. All Rights Reserved

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