The Stub

For those who know my family, more specifically my dad, they know about The Stub. About six years ago, my dad had an accident at work that took the end of his right index finger from the last knuckle, hence "The Stub". A game that Dad likes to play with me is "Not the Stub, Papa". It's simple...the rules call for him to poke me in the ear, neck, and cheek with The Stub, and for me to cringe and say "Not the stub, Papa...not the stub!!", to which Dad replies "Oh, sis! It's just a finger!". Now, The Stub isn't slimy, gangrenous, or contagious...I know this...it just kind of weirds me out that Dad has this blunt-ended finger, where he once had a non-blunt, complete finger, with fingernail and all. When I was dating Nate, and met his family, I told his sister, Rebekah about The Stub, and the game. The day after Nate and I got engaged, we were with Bekah and she told me about one night, when she woke up in the middle of the night laughing, because she remembered "Not the Stub, Papa". Fast forward one month, when my parents and I fly to Texas for the meeting of the in-laws. Papa George (my father-in-law) dares Dad to put The Stub in Bekah's ear. And, true to form, Dad delivers with panache (because, to a Sorenson, there is no other way!)...right after my nephew, Hunter's baptism. Bekah screamed, then laughed...pretty hard. She got to play "Not the Stub Papa", which is something very few people can say! To be completely honest (and Dad, if you read this, you now know my secret...which you have probably known the whole time), I don't actually hate the game of "Not the Stub Papa". It's kind of my thing with Dad...as strange as that sounds. This is not to say that The Stub doesn't weird me out, and my cringing isn't genuine, because it SOOOOOO is genuine. It's just to say that if the price of laughing with my Papa is torture by STUB, then it's a price worth paying!