Here’s the scene: I get home from Best Buy yesterday and install my new Blu-Ray compatible DVD player, purchased with the sole intention of watching myself on TV for a whopping 6½ minutes (see yesterday’s post).  I postpone my onscreen debut until my wife and kids are home, so we can all revel together in the wonder that is me.  The moment they walk through the door, I gather the family around me, and with remote in hand I power on the player.

My two-year-old begins screaming.

Poor child, I say to myself.  The screen is dark because the DVD is loading, and he doesn’t understand that in mere moments his beloved father will be awash in glorious 1080p HD. 

As expected, when at last I appear, a hush falls over him.  Yes, Son.  It is I, your father.  The face that brings you joy.  The calm voice that soothes you to sleep.  The keen intellect that earns the sustenance to make your belly round and your bones strong.    

He looks at me, looks back at the TV, and then looks at me again.

“No watch Daddy!  Watch Dora!”

I power off the player and turn on Nickelodeon as instructed.

Child: 1.  Ego: 0.