NOW I Know Why Avery's Skeert of Me

Avery has been in a phase of late, one that might faze lesser men than I. Although the lad is still more than three months from being in his own terrible 2s, he has settled into a streak in which he’s terrified of me. (Many contend that my own terrible 2s have continued for 60-plus years.)

Even though he runs away from me with Olympic speed, I have talked myself into being unflappable rather than flummoxed.

I’ve got evidence that he wasn’t always so skeert of me. And I know it isn’t all about me, because I have further evidence that his parents have duped the normally happy lad into acting terrified around me.

You see, they have made his blood run purple. And that, my friends, is why he lets out blood-curdling screams when I approach. Indeed, his terror smacks him sight unseen. A couple of weeks back, when Kate and I trekked from our new digs in La Crosse, Wis., to his new digs in a Twin Cities suburb to visit, he started screaming when he saw her, because he’s bright enough to realize that, when she’s around, I can’t be far away.

Sure ’nuf, when I rounded the corner, his screams intensified, and he clung to Mommy all the tighter. Oh, he’d give me fist-bumps and high-fives, but he screamed bloody murder when I tried to pick him up.

Oddly enough, these incidents came only a few months after we’d had great fun playing together, and he even tried to look down my gullet to see what I’m made of or, perhaps, what I had for dinner.

Here is photographic evidence that we can get along famously, in happier times:







Shortly thereafter, though, his terrors of me happened day or night, although they remind me of the night terrors his dad experienced as a young boy when he sleepwalked, often morphing into episodes of fear.

But back then, in the days of Refrigerator Perry, Brendan was a Bears fan, as many folks in Dubuque, Iowa, were, so I doubt that there was a football connection to his bad dreams.

After we moved to Minnesota, though, he got the purple gangrene, a malady that his milady, Erica, shares.

So I suspect a Vikings connection with Avery aversion to me. Time was, I even fancied myself as a Vikings fan, even when I lived in Florida, because I couldn’t stand the Miami Dolphins, let alone the dadgummed Gator Nation.

Now that I’m ensconced in the Badger State, home of the Packers green and gold, I suspect that they’re green with envy, especially because the Packers are golden these days. And the Vikings are, well, hardly deserving of the Nordic name.

Brendan and Erica — well, probably Brendan moreso than Erica — have forced the Vikings upon Avery almost from the moment he popped into the world.

Indeed, during the tot’s first football seasons on Earth, Mom and Dad decked him out in Vikings apparel.


Obviously, Avery has no idea that his parents use him as a pawn on Game Daze, in these duds they forced him into when he didn't have enough hair to stand on end at the terrifying thought of what they had done.

Kate and I avoided the temptation to turn them over to child protective services for abusing the lad. Actually, we did so because child protection could have looked at us askance for giving him a battery-operated car for his first Christmas. OK, so he was too young, but I got a great deal on the “Cars” car, and I’d become addicted to giving the Four Horsemen cars when they were too young, too.

Fortunately, he didn’t learn how to drive it until a few months ago, but even then, he drove it like the Vikings have played football this season: straight into a tree. And he just kept his pedal to the metal, as the spinning wheels tossed mulch into the air.



I just got back from a visit to the next generation of Tighes, once removed from me, and I made some headway. Early on, he went to great pains to avoid me, clinging to the wall as he walked around the house so he could stay as far away from me as possible.

But after he feasted on pizza, when he was still trapped in the high chair so he couldn’t flee, he actually laughed and giggled when I tickled him. We parted on super terms.

Only later, though, did I discover that the plot had thickened, with an expanded list of players. Of course, I had worn my Packers jacket, to taunt the Vikings Purple People Eaters.

After I left Avery’s place, I went to my daughter Allison’s salon. She smiled at my jacket and said Brendan had texted her about it. That seemed odd, but I assumed he had texted a message saying something like, “I can't BELIEVE that Dad is wearing Packers green and gold.”

Allison told me to turn around, so she could see “the letters,” so I did, thinking she meant the Packers. She laughed, and her customer laughed.

Only later, when I took my jacket off, did I see that somebody had vandalized it, covering “Packers” with a piece of tape saying, “SUCK.” AHA! Proof that they’re brainwashing the boy, and THAT's why he's been afraid of me. Very, VERY afraid, because I represent something that's crushed the Viqueens.

Frustrated Vikings fans resort to vandalism because they can't win. Fortunately, it's only a misdemeanor, unlike the Vikes' felonious season.

I blamed Brendan at first, until I noticed that the handwriting looked more like Erica’s block letters than his. And NOW, I’ve discovered, through sleuthing and a spy who will remain nameless, that her dad was in on the scheme, too.

I’m stunned, STUNNED, I tell ya, that a man of the cloth would stoop to vandalism. Obviously, Larry is man of the purple cloth.

Well, I suspect that I’ll be getting the last laugh when the Pack gives the Vikings a football lesson in their second meeting of the season Monday night. I predict a reprise of the Packers’ 33-27 win over the Vikings in October.

That will give the Purple Gang reason to cry in their purple beer. And I’ll be able to convert Avery to being a fan of a quarterback whose name also starts with an A, Aaron Rodgers.

And we'll see who sucks.