Now, I’m not talking about just the ladies. We assume women will fall all over baby pictures and stuff like that.
My children have the power to bring grown men to their knees. The toughest, harshest, most disagreeable men at work found themselves smiling from ear to ear, holding this 2x3 inch photo 6 inches from their nose, babbling at these photos at octaves thought unreachable by testosterone laden, teeth gritting, scowl wearing, salty, lumberjack wannabes.
“Oh my gosh, they are adorable.” “Look at that hair.” “Oh they’re so cute.” “They’re going to be such heart breakers.”
It’s genuinely pathetic.
Then, as they come back to their senses, realizing that everyone is in shock at such an emotionally soft-hearted display; before they fully recover, they look me in the eye, steel me with their gaze, and utter those three little words…
…those three little words that make me realize that they are indeed real men…
…those three little words that fully explain why they reacted to the photos the way they did, because they understand my pride in my family…
…those three little words demonstrating an almost imperceptible empathy with depths so infinite as to establish an intimate and lasting fraternal bound amongst men, amongst fathers, that cannot be broken…
…those three little words that tell me plainly that they are always there if I need them to help me hunt down, kill, dismember, and dispose of any scum that even supposes to cause my daughters harm…
those three little words:
"Get a gun."
I can’t help it; I begin to sob like a school girl, every single time.
See…there I go again…I think I need more ammunition.
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