Picking up my teenager Jacob from baseball practice, he immediately changed the radio station.

His selection was fine, I guess.  I guess if I was a teenager or knew the song or anything like that.

As a result, I embraced the only defense I know “Being Dad Proud.”  That’s right, I announced with pride, “Hey, look at this new dance.”  As I held my hand horizontal over the dashboard, I moved my hand in a circular motion, then reversed.  “I call it, ‘Cleaning the Counter.'”

Seeing my son stifle a laugh, I knew I had won.  I had won by “Being Dad Proud.”