My dad has three legs, so we can’t compete with one another in the three-legged race.
He’s his own team.
He always wins.
There’s always been talk about having one leg removed, but he says he doesn’t want to have to choose.
Imagine having to pick between which leg you would want taken off, he says.
I say it’s not the same.
He never admits it when I make a good point, but it has nothing to do with his three legs.
He’s just stubborn.
Sometimes I make tap-dancing jokes when he’s not around.
My mom thinks it’s hilarious, but she always makes us stop laughing after too long.
We shouldn’t make fun, she says, and she’s right.
