🦆 Go Ask Daddy about cannibalism, odd ducks and New York minutes

Finally I have time to write a Go Ask Daddy post!

I’d hoped this quarantine era would at least give me more casual blog writing time. What it’s become is highly distracted work-from-home time, with work days that drone into the night. At least I know this because I change from day pajamas to night pajamas.

Just getting to this point is a victory, though.

The girls amazingly haven’t had any COVID questions, but there’s plenty in the vault from yesteryear. Hell, some of these questions have been around since the Spanish Flu epidemic. (Or, close to it.)

🌐 Go Ask Daddy about foreign language, breakfast nutrition, and omens your ticker’s at risk

I’ve been doing these surveys online.

You can earn money on them. I’ve probably gathered $10 toward my stupendous PayPal balance by revealing my spending habits, taking quizzes about commercials that air during Live PD, and disclosing just how Hispanic I am.

Not overly, it turns out.

I mean, I rock the cuisine and will always retain my honey-roasted complexion. But these surveys ask if we speak Spanish in the home or watch Spanish-language programming. No and no. (Those words, luckily, are the same in English and Spanish.)

Go Ask Daddy About Soda Bottles, Laws of Tanning, and the Ultimate Greenback

Court, over at Baking in my Bathing Suit, had an idea.

“Have you ever done a ‘Readers Ask Coach Daddy”? She asked in comments on my most recent Go Ask Daddy post. “I bet you people have some good questions for you.” So I aim to find out.

Send me your Go Ask Daddy questions this week.

Put “Go Ask Daddy” in the subject line and email to bloggingeli@gmail.com. If I get five or more, I’ll pick five and answer them. If not? I’ll act like this never happened.

I’ve had similar bad luck when I asked for questions for my short-lived Ask a Boy feature. Maybe this is different.

Go Ask Daddy About Pizza Placement, Tropical Trappings and Straight Shooting About Strawberries

photo credit: M’sieur Sub ! Photo de famille via photopin (license)

We have this silly rule, the kids and me.

It’s instituted because, 100% of the time, winter, spring, summer or fall, at night and by day, from school, from training, from detention (no, they don’t actually get detention), the girls, each of them individually and together, enter my car and my day with two words:

“I’m hungry.”

If there’s something on the way home, we’ll stop. (As long as we haven’t slumped into overdraft yet.) Grace has begun a subliminal campaign (whispering QT, for QuikTrip and their slushies and donuts, when she gets in the car with me.)

Dad in the Kitchen: Brown & White Sugar Waffles (For People of All Colors)

I love me some symbolism.

Like, red in the Colorado flag, to symbolize the state’s red soil. Or the Mandala, to stand for eternal harmony. Or even a blue star on the side of a silver helmet. This stands for a team allergic to playoff victories.

Symbolism isn’t lost on me in the kitchen, either.

Here’s the recipe for my Brown and White Sugar Waffles. They’re representative of my children, actually, part brown like dad, half white, like mom. In perfect harmony, ironed to light and crispy perfection, with a hint of vanilla.

Go Ask Daddy About Device Diversions, Writing Weaknesses and Couponing Questions That Shall Never Be Asked

photo credit: v_mats D16B2649-1 via photopin (license)

A kid will call a dad out.

The younger the kid, the rawer (is that a word?) the call-out. I’ve navigated three daughters through the unfiltered years, without many stings. There was that day on the Barbie doll aisle with one daughter, who, noting Mattel’s plastic diversity, asked, “why would I want a black Barbie, dad?”

I sailed through that one with honesty, not damage control.

“I think little girls like to play with dolls, no matter what,” I explained. “But sometimes, we want toys that look like us. These dolls look like different people.” And it was true. I remember complaining that there were no Mexican kids on Peanuts.

Go Ask Daddy About Crustacean Cravings, Noodle Knowledge, and Incredible Heroes

photo credit: Reiterlied Seaside Lunch via photopin (license)

I’m all about culinary diversity.

You won’t believe me, given the playtime the Gastronomic Trinity – cheeseburgers, pizza, and tacos – gets here. But I’ve eaten Indian food for the first time recently, thanks to my millennial/liberal friends. Took a break from the burger joint and everything.

(They can keep their sushi, though, actually.)

I love some Pad Thai, also. I hadn’t had it in my first 43 years on earth. Sometimes, the sense of adventure in food comes without me knowing it. I accidentally ate alligator once. I ordered fish on a stick in a rural north Florida town.

Go Ask Daddy About Bendy Parts, Burning Hearts, and La Lengua de Argentina

photo credit: hugojcardoso via photopin cc

Sometimes, the anti-answers are easy to find.

You’ll see what I mean when you read the questions picked from the pool of Go Ask Daddys today (did you know there are more than 200 of them? And that I pick five at random each week with help from random.org?)

1. NOT your elbow.

2. NOT someone who makes you feel awesome inside.

Ask Away Friday with NJ of A Cookie Before Dinner

photo credit: megpi via photopin cc

A cool thing that happens when I collect for 6 Words posts is that I get to hear from a lot of bloggers. Some are old favorites. Others are destined to become new favorites. Some come with some pretty cool ideas.

NJ from A Cookie Before Dinner invited me to take part in a question swap I’d read on other blogs, called #AskAwayFriday.

Friday is normally sacred ground for the kids’ questions. But I decided to give this one a shot. I’m usually the one who fires the questions at people, in line at Wal-mart, in emails to bloggers or even to embattled NFL head coaches.

Here are the questions NJ sent to me for the swap. Make sure you check out her answers to my questions, too.

I’m a Disgrace to my People

EJP

I’m a disgrace to my people. A shame to la gente. The “Is he? / Isn’t he?” exception to the rule of being Latino that leaves me neither theirs, nor yours.

I mean, look at my name: Eli Pacheco. Jewish? Mexican? Russian? Czechoslovakian?

What the hell is he?

I’m brown. Wood-colored, some say. (I prefer honey-roasted.) My dad called me a coconut: Brown on the outside, white on the inside.