Tyson kept pestering me: "Where Daddy at? Where Daddy at?" I relented. Sans clothing with only his monkey towel, I took him out to our deck to watch Doug battle the lawn.
Then, out of no where, he unexpectedly grabbed the towel and flung it open like a well-seasoned flasher. I was speechless. I couldn't help it. Doubled over in laughter, he just grinned at me wondering what was so funny.
Pretty soon he was standing up, proud of his starkness and gallivanting around our back yard. Oh well. He is, after all, his father's son.