As you know, Hannah, Nick, and I are Tiger Woods fans. In our warped little world, that means we have to root against Phil Mickelson just as much as we root for Tiger. Of course, there's no rational reason for that. It's just in our DNA. When it comes to the world of golf, we have made it our mission to "hate" Phil.
Poor Phil. We rag on him endlessly whenever we see him. He's fat. He doesn't pump his fist like a real man. That goofy grin makes him look like he's always a half-beat behind the rest of the world. Did I mention that he's fat?
Jay has never been a part of our "We Hate Phil" fan club. Jay really has no time for televised sports. He believes you should play sports, not watch them. He openly mocks Nick and me, in particular, for the amount of time we spend watching sports on TV. My failure to indoctrinate him into my sports-watching ways is one of my major parenting disappointments.
Imagine my surprise then when, just a moment ago, a commercial came on the TV. There he was -- Phil Mickelson. America's hero. Before I could say anything, Jay, from his perch on the couch, immediately shouted out "Ewwww." That's right -- Jay was taunting Phil!
"Success," I thought. "Jay really has learned from me. I am the best father ever." Or am I?
This is where the magic happens.
