Contributing Writer

Throughout the ages, Dads have been nit-pickers. It's just our nature. Madame

Marie Curie was nit-picked constantly by her dad to clean up the kitchen

and get rid of all that moldy bread in the corner. Look how she turned out.

Even as a grown man, good old George was so nit-picked by his dad that he

went out and chopped down the family's cherry tree just to get a few

moments of peace.

So why should I be any different? Nit-picking: that's what we dads

do. If you look up the word "dad" in the dictionary the definition

will read, "Dad: A nit-picker. One who nit-picks The Boy to death." That'll

be me, the nit-picker.

The Boy was complaining the other day that I was nit-picking him about everything.

Me? The loving little fuzz ball of a dad that I am? Not knowing what his

definition of nit-picking was, I asked him to elaborate. "You keep telling

me to do the same things over and over. Like putting my clothes up. That's

nit-picking."

"Yep, sounds like me," I said proudly, "But you do realize

that there's a really good reason why I kept telling you over and over

to do the same thing; you don't do it when I ask you the first time!

Or the second time, or even the ..."

The Boy just looked at me, smirked and shook his head. "See, you are

a nit-picker. You just proved my point."

Strange; his smirk looked very similar to the one I gave my dad every time

I wanted to annoy him. Certainly he wouldn't be trying to do that, would

he? I helped The Boy to get his clothes up the steps and tried to finish

my sentence. As a father of a teenager, I have become an expert at talking

in half-sentences without losing my train of thought.

" ... the third time. And you know, son, you're going to look

back on all this and remember it as 'The Good Old Days.'"

With another smirk he said, "Yeah, The Good Old Nit-Picking Days. I

bet your dad doesn't still nit-pick you."

Oh, how naive. The Boy couldn't be more wrong.

"Son, age has no effect on a nit-picker. Once a nit-picker, always

a nit-picker. My dad's 76 and he still nit-picks me. Not to pick up

my clothes, mind you. After 46 years I've just about got that one down,

but other stuff."

Upon hearing this The Boy was very happy. Then we opened the door to his

room.

Special note to all you nit-picking parents of teenagers out there: Don't

ever venture into the wastelands of your child's bedroom. It's

a very scary place. Your life will be changed forever. Teenagers today aren't

as neat and tidy as we were when we were kids. Nope.

As he looped into his room I saw the piles of clean clothes he had stacked

on the floor from the day before. "Son, I thought I told you to put

these up?"

With a smirk and a raised eyebrow the answer came, "You did, Dad; I

did. I picked them up off the steps and put them up in my room. I'm

using your stack-and-pile system! Besides, if I put them up where they belonged,

you'd just find something else to nit-pick me to death about."

Well, even a nit-picker like me couldn't argue with that logic. And

I couldn't argue with my nit-picking dad last weekend either.

Last week we had a family reunion (story forthcoming), and Dad asked me

if I had read an article about college he had sent me. I told him no. I didn't

have time; I was too busy nit-picking his grandson.

That was not the answer he was looking for. For the next three days my dear

old dad nit-picked me to death till I finally broke down and read his stupid,

er, highly interesting article about college early enrollment. Ya know, for

an old guy, he's still a really good nit-picker. Gives me something

to look forward to in my old age. If Dad's any example, I'm gonna

be able to nit-pick The Boy for a very, very long time to come.

I left The Boy's room with a load of dirty clothes he simply "forgot" to

bring down when he was asked five times. Guess I was being a nit-picker about

that too. When I got to the bottom step, he asked, "Dad, when I go to

college next year, how are you going to keep nit-picking me?"

I looked up at him and smiled, told him not to worry. I had lots of vacation

time saved up. I could visit him every couple of weeks just for the sole

purpose of nit-picking. He smirked, turned and walked back into his room,

mumbling something under his breath. I think it was, "I love you, Dad."

What a nice kid I've got. I can't wait to visit him at college.