A Gink


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The other night my three-year old son and I had been through the
regular nightly routine: story, prayer, hugs. Then as my hand slide
down the light switch, "I want a gink."

He can't say "drink" and I thought it was kinda' cute, "gink." But, I
was firm. "You just had a drink when you brushed your teeth. Now
it's time to go to sleep.

At last the kids were all in bed. Peace. Silence. I sat in the best
chair and begin to sort through the mail. "I want a gink!" from the
darkness.

"Gink" lost some of its cuteness.

"No water! Go to sleep!"

Quietness reigned for at least 60 seconds. "Daddy, I want a gink."

"Be quiet."

"I want a gink."

I knew how Moses felt in the wilderness with a million Jews all
crying, "We want a gink."

Gink was no longer cute. I yelled down the hallway into the darkness,
"If I hear you ask for a gink one more time, if I hear one sound from
you, I'm gonna come down there and spank you and I'm not kidding. Now
be quiet and go to sleep!"

It was as quiet as a tomb, not a sound. You could have heard a pin
drop.

It was so silent I couldn't concentrate on the mail.

Then the still small voice of a child who smelled victory. "Daddy,
when you come in here to spank me could you bring me a gink of
water?"

You can't keep a good man down!





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