Sunny Beaches

Don't let the dapper exterior fool you.
Somewhere inside is that  9-year-old.

Ah. Influencing the young and innocent.
Even in families, it's not always a good thing . . .
My Dad is the youngest of eleven children.
If anyone asks him if he is related to Owen (his eldest brother) he tells them: Distantly.
When my Dad was nine, said oldest brother lived close by with his family. A wife and three-year-old son, Brian.
Brian adored his much older uncle.
He toddled along after 'Unca Mark' whenever he could.
Usually a good thing.
Occasionally . . . not.
My Dad had the twice-daily chore of milking the cow.
Brian loved to go along.
Just because.
It was a fun, companionable time for the two boys.
All was well.
One day, Brian's mother sat him in a chair in the kitchen and prepared to give her small son a haircut.
She combed the unruly locks into submission.
"Ouch!" Brian  said.
"Sorry, dear, but you have some tangles."
"Ouch!" Brian said again. "Mo-om!"
"Almost through."
"Ouch!"
Brian glared at his mom.
"If you do that again, I'm going to have to say 'Sunny Beach'!"
His mother stopped combing. "What?"
"I'm going to have to say 'Sunny Beach'."
"What?" she asked again.
"Suunnny Beeeach," he said slowly and patiently.
Light dawned.
"You mean 'Son of a . . .'"
Her mouth popped open in horror.
She gripped his small shoulder. "Where did you hear that?!"
He stared at her, not understanding her panic.
She gave his shoulder a little shake. "Where did you hear that?!"
"That's what Unca Mark says when the cow kicks him!"
Two things resulted from that haircut.
1.  Brian actually did get his hair shortened.
2.  "Unca Mark' received a lecture on language and its proper uses. Oh! And . . .
3.  I just realized that, when it came to cursing, my Dad didn't have a leg to stand on - or maybe a beach to lie on (see here).
It's a good world.