We were sitting at Applebee's, eating a meal we shouldn't have been, when Big Daddy said, "I really don't like it when you call me Big Daddy on your blog. Why don't you just call me fat ass, it would work just as well?"
Calling him "fat ass" in a sugar coated kind of way was never my intention. The title of Big Daddy came from Molly, actually. One afternoon the hum of the garage door going up caught Molly's attention and although she was sitting in the living room chair with a book, she was eyeing the door waiting for her Dad to come through it. Retrieving the mail from the mailbox is the highlight of Big Daddy's day, so it was a minute or two before he would enter the house.
But, when he did ... his life and name changed forever ... Molly's eyes lit up when she saw him. She through her book to the side. Jumped out of the chair. Ran towards her father with her arms spread wide open ... calling out ...
"MY DADDY! MY BIG BIG DADDY!"
She flung herself into his arms, happy as clam. I found it absolutely hilarious, therefore, naming him Big Daddy for all the rest of eternity.
It's a term of endearment. And he hates it. And that's just too damn bad!
Love you BIG DADDY!
