The child barrels over, as the child does, and after I bark a warning he stops just in time, like he sometimes does. “Daddy’s working,” I say, and it does the trick. The greatest advantage this profession has given me, apart from the enormous salary and the beautiful women, is the unique ability to stop my kid from messing with all my lovely toys. All I need is just four magic words. ‘This is Daddy’s work’. Beautiful.
A couple of weeks back, however, the technique failed me. The kid hurtled over while I was playing something for review; I uttered the magic words but, rather than wander off, this time he stuck around to watch. “Daddyyyyy,” he half-whined, in the way he does. “What are those people saying?” They were…
