The truth comes out
We were hiking through a stretch of wilderness on the backside of Rainbow Springs, Florida, when my 8-year old son made a surprising announcement. “Daddy,” he said, “he doesn’t like your hot dogs.”
His older brother stopped in his tracks, a look of honest outrage on his face. “What?”
“Well, you don’t.”
“I can’t believe you just said that!”
Looking at the two of them, I could tell a confidence had just been betrayed. A weird confidence, but a confidence, nonetheless. “That’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to like my hot dogs.”
“I do too like your hot dogs!”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to.” I laughed. “They’re just hot dogs.”
At this rate, though, I am rapidly running out of things I can cook.
As I turned to keep hiking, I heard a good solid thud followed by an “ow!” and a “Da-addy!”
“It’s okay,” I interrupted before the little guy could tell on his brother. “He doesn’t have to like my hot dogs.”
“Come on. Let’s keep moving. We stay in one place too long and the mosquitoes will carry us away.”
The little guy sighed. His big brother gave a satisfied chuckle, and we continued on our walk.