Those Who Stay Will Be Champions...

I woke up this morning to a somewhat less than Olympic-esque medal ceremony. Zo had dug out some old medals of mine that I'd thrown in the trash, and was busy wearing an old hockey one around her neck. I was then rather abruptly handed an ancient lacrosse medal and then told in no uncertain terms that we were both champions...obviously. There are definitely worse ways to wake up to a Friday than impromptu medal ceremonies.

Zed: Daddy, do you know what a champion is?

Daddy: Yes, I do. Do you?

Zed: Yes, I do. It's when you win all of the races.

Daddy: Yes, it's something like that. Are you going to be a champion someday?

Zed: Yes, I am.

The exchange was followed by breakfast and a rousing sing-a-long of Hail To The Victors, started by Zed, I might add. Somehow our daughter woke up re-incarnated as Natalie Coughlin, or whoever might be the female equivalent of Michael Phelps...let's go with Natalie Coughlin. Now, it seems that I'm required to go to work wearing my medal. This should be interesting.

Follow up: It was interesting...very interesting indeed. When you're a kid you're desperate for a medal. If you were awarded one you'd wear it everywhere, like a second skin...but as adults we're quite disinclined to sport them around without reason. Trust me, it changes your attitude when you do. A man that wears medals to work is, well, he's hard to stop.