Work Text:
“Papa? Why don’t you eat pork?”
“I lost my taste for it years ago, dear.”
---
“Papa? Why aren’t coming out to the country with us?”
“I don’t like it very much, dear. Too much wilderness for me, I’m afraid. Give me London any day.”
---
“Papa? Why can’t I paint you?”
“Adults don’t like finger paint in their beards, dear. And before you ask, your mother does not have a beard and is therefore exempt from that rule. Go ask her.”
---
“Papa? Why don’t you like glow-in-the-dark things? They’re so cool!”
His only daughter regarded him with deep suspicion.
“They just don’t appeal to me, dear.” He paused. “Yes, I know. I’m very boring and possibly evil.”
---
“Papa? Why won’t you play war with us?”
“Too much running around for me, dear. My old back can’t put up with it now. And playing a dead body is not appealing.”
He closed his eyes to go to sleep before feeling several peculiarly hard things poking him. He cracked one eye open.
“Being poked with sticks—” Several offended gasps ensued. “Excuse me, being poked with spears is not making me more inclined to play.”
---
“Papa! You should play firefighters with us!”
He sighed with the resignation of a father who has four boys.
“You’re setting things on fire again, aren’t you?”
---
“Jack. You should play with the children more. They’ll only want to be around us for a few more years.”
“Frying bugs with a magnifying glass is not my idea of fun, honey.”
“You say that now. I’m sure you did the exact same thing when you were their age.”
“I preferred eyeglasses and wood.”