PhotoShoot Sunday

Alison has been tightening her grip on her father's heart this week. She came home from school the other day, very excited, and told her Dad she had a surprise for him. "Be careful when you open it, it's paper," she warned, handing him a yellow piece of construction paper, fashioned into an envelope of sorts.

He unfolded it carefully, just as she instructed. Inside was a 1988 baseball card honoring the 1987 year of one Sam Horn, then designated hitter for the Boston Red Sox.

"Honey," he exclaimed, touched beyond words. "Where did you get this?"

"I traded a Littlest Pet Shop for it," she said. "I thought you would like it."

What she couldn't have known is that one of Jeff's haunts in his never-ending zeal to know all things baseball, is the Sons of Sam Horn blog. She just knows he loves the Sox. And apparently she loves him more than even her beloved Littlest Pet Shops.

I don't think Jeff stopped smiling at her all night.

But there's always more to the story, of course. And this ending comes from my conversation with her later in the day. She told me of the trade and how she happy to do it because she knew he'd love having another piece of the Red Sox and also because the LPS dog she'd traded was one of two identical LPS dogs she happened to have due to previous trades.

"You know Mom, I'm not a big fan of dogs," she said. A boy at school named Caleb, who is a fan of dogs, had no LPS dogs, but he had plenty of baseball cards. And so the exchange had been made.

"But then, Mom, you know what?" she said.

"What?" I said.

"Later, I saw that doggie sitting all alone, with no one paying any responsibility to him at all!"

"You did?" I said, not sure where this was headed.

"Yes. And so I told Caleb that I was going to take the dog back home with me until he could be more responsible with it," she said. "I'll see if he is more responsible tomorrow."

So basically, she shook the kid down. The dog is on the kitchen counter, destined for Caleb the Irresponsible tomorrow morning whether he mends his ways or not. The Sam Horn card is safely in Jeff's wallet, where I think it will reside until it falls apart.

So if you're Jeff, you're thinking it can't get much better than having your daughter bring home a Red Sox card. But no, there's more.

He was playing The Pogues, an Irish folk band, on Friday night when she wandered into the living room. "Hey, Dad, what's this music?" she asked, twirling about.

She loved the Pogues and I found the two of them dancing up a storm on the living room rug. Saturday she asked when they could dance to the Pogues again.

I think she could vomit on his favorite suit, wreck the car and decorate his basketball sneakers with a pink Sharpie and he'd still forgive her right now.