Just a Joke

Smith has many strengths. Compliantly brushing his teeth is not one of them. Even though it is part of the nightly routine and he must know it is coming, more times than not Smith ardently resists brushing his teeth. A few nights ago, it was getting to be that time, so I took Smith by the hand and we made the long walk up the stairs to the bathroom. Smith turned to me and said, "Dad, can we brush teeth first?" I should have immediately known something was wrong.

We got to the bathroom, situated ourselves next to the sink, and procured Smith's teeth brushing implements: a Spiderman toothbrush and the Superman sparkle toothpaste. Smith said, "Dad, this time I want LOTS of toothpaste on it." "Well, okay," I said, dumbly. I generously lathered the toothbrush. Then Smith said, "Dad, this time I want to do it by myself. You go sit over there." "Well, okay," I said, dumbly, again. I went and sat on the edge of the bath tub. Smith grinned from ear to ear. He put the toothbrush in his mouth, and began brushing, and he began laughing. He brushed faster and faster, while laughing harder, and harder, until his mouth, cheeks and chin were covered with blue foam. Then, he took the toothbrush out of his mouth, cocked his arm back, and rifled the toothbrush at me hitting me squarely on the forehead. Used, frothy toothpaste splattered across my shirt and face. It was one of those moments when my temperament changed from calm and ordinary to a jaw clenching, teeth-gritting fury in an instant. And Smith was laughing hysterically.

I was about to open my mouth and let the rage erupt, but Smith interrupted. "Dad, Dad, Dad, wait. I've got to tell you something. It was just a joke."

Boom.