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photo credit-jetheriot
creative commons license
So Tuesday afternoon (the day of Obama's inauguration) Sweet Pea comes home from school and says to Liz,
"I know this is a little bit mean, but I wish my daddy were Barack Obama."
As Liz relates this to me when I come home, I imagine that my daughter is finally getting some racial identity with the African-American side of her heritage. Perhaps she'll identify more with her black dolls, and less with the blond Barbie?
Liz continues that she responded,
"Oh really, sweety? Why do you say that?"
"Because then we could have a puppy."
"Couldn't you just wish that your dad wasn't allergic to dogs?"
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photo credit-lepiaf.geo
creative commons license
Last year, Buddy Boy suggested we could get a dog, and "Don't worry, Dad. You could live in the basement." (The unfinished, unheated basement of our 125 year old house).
It's good to know that, given a choice between a real living dad and a hypothetical dog, the dog will always win.