Indoctrination

Last night I slept in a t-shirt that Kathleen got me from the Democratic National Convention last summer. It's got one of those Shepard Fairey-style pictures of Obama's face on it.

When Zeke woke up, I was sitting and talking to him when he looked at my shirt, pointed to the picture of Obama, and said, "man!"

"Yes, that's a man."

In Zeke's mind, all human beings of the male persuasion are either "daddy" or "man." At some point, I'll have to explain that daddy is a man, but for now, it's easier to let the distinction ride.

"Do you know who that man is? That's President Obama. Can you say 'Obama'?"

"Owrama."

"Yes! Obama!"

"Owrama!"

Zeke pointed to my shirt again and smiled.

Then he leaned over, buried his face in my chest, and gave the picture a kiss. "Mwah!"

"Owrama!" he yelled again.

We grab 'em young, we Democrats.

Either that, or he's showing early signs of being a breast man.