Every time I take the Bean to Barnes and Noble and chase her around the children section like a diaper-wearing chicken, we always go upstairs to the café for a coffee and a chocolate chip cookie the size of her head. From the moment we approach the glass display case she gets so excited. She screams. She salivates. And she tries to grab the cookie out of my hand before I even find us a table. It's a good time. Me and my daughter. Shooting the shit about life. Getting crumbs everywhere. But who cares. She’ll always remember these moments. My wife also had a close relationship with her dad, except he brought her to the bar and she sat on the bar sipping a Shirley temple with a straw while he paid off the bookie.
The only kink in my Bean bonding experience is when we go home and she isn't hungry for her tofu and string bean dinner. Brooke always knows what went down downtown. And I have to sit back and hear it. “You gave her chocolate again, didn’t you?” But that's okay. As long as she doesn't know about the strip club we hit after. Good times. Good times.