The day Boy stopped opening beers

Since he was young, Boy has always been social. We like to have a bunch of friends over in the summer. I cook some meat. We drink some beers. Good times with some good friends. Boy is always right there in the mix. I go to the fridge and grab a beer and open it. Boy watches. Yes, I know I'm a bad influence. That's not the point of the story. He's always had a fondness for tools, therefore, he's always wanted to open the beers. What the heck, right? Mommy is in the other room. I'm in the kitchen with some buddies, let's see what happens. I set the beer on the kitchen floor. He grabs the opener. Excitedly. As if it's a characteristic he's been born with, he knows just what to do. I hold tight to the bottle. He pops the top right off. Not even any foam over.

Now this goes on for some time (no, not the same night). In fact, he starts enabling. Daddy, you want a beer. Sure, why not. It's called good parenting. I'm supportive of a skill. It's not like he's drinking the beers, he's just being helpful as is his want.

Then one day he gets lazy. As tends to happen the more comfortable one becomes with a skill. He bends down with the opener. It's a church key type. I'm holding the ice cold Sam Adams bottle on the kitchen floor. Boy is somewhat distracted. Probably full of sugar. He sets the opener over the top of the bottle. He pulls up. Excitedly. Whack. Right on his forehead. Big mark. Mommy was not pleased.