My little boy demands his respect. When my son was eight years old, I’d often call him a scrub, due to his losing record in our playfights.
Today, Xander demanded I stop calling him a “scrub”:
“Me and Darius looked it up and it means ‘weakling’!”
“Well, okay. But that’s not EXACTLY what I meant…”
“Yes, it is! Do you know why I hugged you that other day?”
“Because you forgot that Daddy is uncomfortable with basic human affection?”
“Revenge? A hug isn’t revenge! Man, if you don’t get that ol’ weak shi-…”