What’s a hard drive? To my dad, it was that long car trip down to Florida. To my daughter, well, it’s that computer thingie. And here are another 25 definitions that divide my father and my kid:
To my father: To occupy yourself.
To my kid: To occupy yourself having sex.
To my father: Large wild cat preying on deer.
To my kid: Older wild woman preying on younger men.
To my father: Marlon Brando movie.
To my kid: Herman Cain pizza.
To my father: First lady.
To my kid: Celebrity rehab.
To my father: Top of a muffin.
To my kid: Fat roll around the waist.
To my father: Lyndon Baines Johnson, President.
To my kid: Lebron James, traitor.
Gangster, now as “gangsta”
To my father: Al Capone.
To my kid: Fifty Cent (aka “Fitty“).
To my father: 50.
To my kid: The new 40.
To my father: Physically ill.
To my kid: Fantastic.
To my father: Physically sick.
To my kid: Also fantastic.
To my father: A trance-like state of absolute euphoria.
To my kid: A pill, to produce a trance-like state of absolute euphoria.
To my father: Coffee.
To my kid: Red Bull.
To my father: Horrendous war.
To my kid: Wonderful tourist destination.
To my father: Where a baby sleeps.
To my kid: Where a rapper sleeps.
To my father: Talking horse of old TV show (“A horse is a horse, of course of course…”)
To my kid: Erectile dysfunction (“Seek immediate medical attention for an erection lasting over four hours.”)
To my father: Very bad.
To my kid: Very good.
To my father: A train that was wrecked.
To my kid: Lindsay Lohan (See “Betty Ford”)
To my father: The lady in the Beatles song.
To my kid: “The Lady Gaga of the time she was famous.”
Blackberry & Apple
To my father: Fruit & fruit.
To my kid: Phone & computer.
To my father: All he wanted when he went to the bathroom.
To my kid: “Isn’t that, like, a control, or something on websites?”
To my father: Skater Jo Jo, quarterback Terry Bradshaw’s ex-wife.
To my kid: Ubiquitous purveyor of overpriced java drinks.
To my father: Da Vinci.
To my kid: DiCaprio.
To my father: What you do to wine.
To my kid: What you do to relax.
To my father: Someone stupid, a dolt.
To my kid: Something cool, exciting.
To my father: The place one lives, if not foreclosed.
To my kid: The music one listens to, if not Justin Bieber.
To my father: A system of principles <moral> or of signals for communication <Morse>.
To my kid: A system written by computer programmers wearing wool caps and headphones, while chilling to dope house music.
Any others can you think of?
Photo Credit: Neil McIntosh