When My Little Girl Called A Big Guy A Pussy
And I was the designated adult
I held Ricki’s little hand as we neared the stadium. I wasn’t worried about my eight-year-old’s safety. At a Stanford football game, the biggest threats were stains from a spilled pinot. Or maybe a shiraz. My wife had our six-year-old in tow far behind us.
I scanned the entrances for the shortest line. Ricki squeezed my hand and yelled in excitement.
“Dad! That guy’s a pussy!”
I looked down at my 50-pound daughter. She grinned and pointed her bony finger at a huge freshman guy. He easily had four inches and forty pounds on me. Big Guy’s face went blank; he had heard the news. So had his five friends.
“Dad! Did you hear me?” Ricki shouted.
She pointed up at his chest and laughed.
“That big guy is a PUSSY!”
The five friends collapsed in hysterics. Big Guy opened his mouth slowly but no words came out. He would forever be the big guy called a pussy by a little girl. It was now his nickname. For life.
“Ricki!” I snapped in my what-the-hell-just-happened voice.
“Well…” she pointed at one of his friends. “That’s what he said.”
