Today’s tale pretty much requires that you’re familiar with a game called “Finger of Doom.” If you’re not, here’s the full rundown.

Last week, my wife called me from Texas to say hi. Usually, the boys like to get on the phone to talk too, but this time they were having too much fun with their friends.

“Hey,” I asked my wife, “can you do me a favor? Go poke the big guy in the belly and tell him daddy says finger of doom.”

I listened while she moved into the noisy room where everyone was laughing and talking, then heard her whisper “daddy says finger of doom.”

“AWWW, COME ON!” My oldest shouted.

My wife retreated, chuckling, and we continued our conversation.

When we saw each other last night, I pointed at the big guy. “I finger of doomed you over the telephone.”

He smiled so hard he almost fell over. “Aww, come on!”

“I got you,” I said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t make the dead face. I think it would have been too embarrassing.”

He made the dead face, tilting his head sideways and letting his tongue loll out. As I laughed, he jumped forward and poked me. “Finger of Doom!”

It was my turn to make the dead face.