The sleek, wingless aircraft buzzed around the airfield, performing gravity defying loops and rolls. “Tower, we are making final approach,” the crackling voice said. The orange-nosed vehicle swooped down and shuddered to a halt midair in front of the hanger door…
“Come on, Johnny, eat for Daddy!” Connor pleaded in a normal parental tone.
“Pbbt!” The 9 month-old infant raspberried.
Rachel sipped her coffee, savoring the taste of the brew along with the look of consternation on her father’s face.
“Stop looking so smug, Rachel.”
“I thought you would have gotten the hang of it by now … have you tried the choo-choo train and the tunnel recently?” she chuckled.
His glower was belied by the twinkle in his eyes, and the twitch of his mouth. “You were never this difficult.”
“I was a little older when we found each other, and you’ve accused me plenty of times of being difficult. Face it -- we just take after you, Dad.”
John MacLeod demanded attention by pounding both hands on the tray of his high chair. His father looked at him and offered the spoon of baby food carrots again.
“Pbbt!” the baby responded once more.
“He doesn’t talk, but he knows that,” Connor complained. “Where the h…eck did he pick that up?”
“If you would stop watching cartoons with him…” Rachel began but she was quickly cut off.
“I’ll give up a lot of things for my children, but not the cartoons, so get that idea out of your pretty head right now, young lady!”
“Yes, Daddy,” she grinned.
“Dada,” John echoed, pounding the table in emphasis, and his father and sister both looked at him and then at each other.
“Did he…?” Connor wondered.
“Di di.” John smeared the carrots on the edge of his mouth up into his dark hair, ignoring his father’s moan.
“Daddy,” Rachel prompted the baby.
“Dah di … pbbt!”
Connor looked concerned, but Rachel only laughed. “He’s got your number, Dad.”
“Well, wait until I start him on the Three Stooges…nyuk, nyuk nyuk!”
John, entranced by the new sound, opened his mouth for the carrots. “Gotcha!” said his dear old dad.
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