For all daughters who have fathers

This year my daughter gave me a basket of food for Christmas.

This was inevitable, I suppose. When you reach a certain age, you know a basket of food is in your future. Sooner or later. Preferably later. On the other hand, my wife – who knows me well – got me a robot for Christmas. Although only a few days have passed, I have now spent a number of quite enjoyable hours irritating the family dog.

In any case, once I got everything from the food basket laid out on the table, I was forced to admit it was a pretty good gift. I had lots of dried and candied fruits and dates, jams, jelly, pinafores wrapped in metaphors, sausages, and a large variety of cheeses. Since my daughter’s tastes and my own are very similar, I knew that this had actually been a gift not casually selected, and thus worthy of more than token appreciation.

And, since our tastes are so similar, it pleased me to once again recognize the old adage: the acorn doesn’t fall far from the brie.


(Yeah, yeah, I know. You were with me right up to the last minute. I act this way on purpose so you won’t have any real proof that you actually are the love child of Bill Gates and J. K. Rowling. If I can't have the money, neither can you.)

Dad