Here’s the deal, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

The two best things about being a parent are, A: The intense and unqualified love who have for your child, and B: Messin' with ‘em.

I didn’t know it until I had my own kid, but my Dad was a master at messin' with us. For example, he would intentionally mispronounce Mick Jagger’s name just for the entertainment of seeing me go bananas:

“What's this singer’s name doing this Jumpin’ Jack song, Son? Mike Jackman?”

I would flounce, slump, stomp and whine as only a hormone enraged teenager can and then scream;

“Noooooo! It’s Mick Jagger. Duuuuuuuuuuh!”

And I thought he was the idiot.

Well, once, by accident, I misnamed my three-year-old daughter Ann Caroline’s favorite show, “Square Bob Sponge Pants” as “Square Pants Sponge Bog.” Oh my word: sudden loud whaling and finger pointing as she yelled;

“No, no, no, that is wery, wery wrong (very is her only adverb, pronounced wery) “It is “Sponge Bob Square Pants, Daaaaaaaaaaaddy”

She then disgustedly folded her arms and uttered her first; "Humph!"

So, naturally, I would mispronounce “Sponge Bob Square Pants” every chance I could get and then sit back and enjoy the show.

One day I was driving her home from pre-school and I could hardly wait for the "Sponge Bob" fire works:

“Hey, punkin'", I asked mischievously, "When we get home, do you want to watch "Pants Sponge Bob Square?”

Shockingly, there was no reaction. Is this game over, I wondered? Just then I heard this little sigh of frustration followed my daughter saying very patiently and sweetly;

“Daddy?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Say Sponge . . . Say Bob . . .”

P.S. It has been since '87 that he passed away and I still miss my Dad every single day.