Son
These are stories about my son.
He cracks me up. Tell him he walks too slow and he’ll say you walk too fast.
Skip the cake. He’ll go for the fruit salad any day. Then ask for seconds. Fire engines? They’re cool. So are cars, policemen and dinosaurs. But not sea lions – they stink!
He likes to count cows in a field. He’s mildly autistic.
by Charles Newbery
Posted in: Son
"I got it, I got it!"
“The Bad News Bears” was a favorite movie of mine as a kid
I loved it.
I wanted to ride a motorcycle like troublemaker Kelly Leak and take on the whole sixth grade like Tanner.
And it made me play harder at Little League, where once my team went to the championship.
I can’t remember the final result, only a key play. I tagged out a runner to save the moment. I played catcher and the runner was barreling home and the ball was thrown from center field. It bounced and magically landed in my mitt and my mitt, again magically, tagged out the runner, and the ump said, “Out!” Gruffly, and all.
My three kids don’t play baseball. They play soccer, well, football as they call it here in Argentina.
My six-year-old son is the keenest, so far. [click to continue reading…]
Did you like the post? You can share it:
by Charles Newbery
Posted in: Son
Coconut milk does a body good. Ask my son.
MY SON IS loving his dairy-free superhero diet, which we started last week. I put coconut milk and water into his porridge and he wolfed it down, asked for seconds, polished it off and then ran to Mummy – quick as lightening – and said, “Mummy, Mummy. I had coconut milk in my porridge. Look at my muscles.”
He gave a big flex.
Mummy oohed.
Watch out Brutus! There’s a new Popeye in town and he’s found that coconut milk does a body good.
Did you like the post? You can share it:
by Charles Newbery
Posted in: Son
The girls are in England and we're getting bored at home.
MY WIFE AND the two girls are away for a couple of weeks, off to a wedding in England. That leaves me and my son to fend for ourselves in Argentina.
It’s quiet around the house.
We woke up the first day after their departure and sat down for breakfast. No wife/mother, no seven-year-old daughter/sister and no two-year-old daughter/sister. Just us and the dog. We could do as many loutish things as we wanted and blame the dog and not get told off. We laughed and did it again. And then ate our cereal. We could hear each other munching. [click to continue reading…]
Did you like the post? You can share it:
