"So how was that Composite Index today, son?" the father enquired. "That little dip in the morning sure worked up your old man's heart," senior said with a chuckle.
The son, however was uncharacteristically quiet.
"Father, I..." he couldn't quite put it in words.
"What is it, son?" the old man was concerned with the furrow in his son's brow. Despite being well over 40 years old, dad had always doted on him. Senior put his arm over the younger man, "C'mon son, you can tell me anything."
It was right there at the tip of his tongue, but these words has always been difficult for him to utter. He had never been able to say it all his life and today was no different.
"I... don't know how... to say it," said the son, his breath laboured as little beads of sweat formed on his forehead. "Father... I..." he stuttered as tears welled up in his eyes, struggling to express himself. This was his demon. This was all that has been torturing him all his childhood and even now in his adult life.
The father could bear it no longer. "Just say it son," dad said, his voice quivering with emotion at his son's suffering, "just say it."
"Father," the younger man found composure at his father's encouragement, and over forty years, the words finally came. "Father, I have to urinate."
Heh. Jesse came up to me last Friday evening and said, "Daddy, I want to wee-wee." At long last, I dare say that the boy is finally on his way to being fully toilet-trained. I was so proud I announced it to our friends who were here for our weekly church group meet. And they all gave the boy a rousing ovation.
Now we just gotta work at, "Daddy I want to poo-poo!"