by: Boy Crazy
Have you ever heard the stereotype that preachers’ kids are the worst? Considering the fact that my husband is a Children’s Pastor, I’m sure hoping it’s not true. The fear set in when my oldest son was only a year and a half.
We were sitting at the dinner table together one night when he gave us a little scare and a big laugh. Out of nowhere, Will stabbed two pinto beans with his tiny fork. He brandished it like a warrior going to battle and yelled, “Big F***er!” Our eyes got as big as saucers, and I immediately started laughing hysterically. My dear husband didn’t laugh for fear of causing a repeat performance (at church or the grandparents’ house, no doubt). As soon as we made eye contact, though, it was all over. We were both cracking up. Knowing that there was no way he knew or had even heard the F-word at 18 months, I was not worried. I knew he must have been saying something else. I just had to figure out what it was.
“Will, what did you just say?”
“Big what, Sweetie?”
It was going downhill fast. The more he said it, the louder he got. And the louder he got, the funnier it became. It was a lost cause... until he held up his fork, showed it to me, and said it again.
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