Yes, I am THAT type of parent

Language has been one of the (very) few bastions of invincibility remaining to me. While my hips long ago gave up the ghost, my French is becoming archaic and I can't hold my drink any more, I had at least the satisfaction of being "the language resource" in the house. "How do you spell turmeric again?" asks Mrs. Ottawacker. "Dad, what does castrato mean?" says Ottawacker Jr. Divulging the answers is a pleasure, and with such small moments of satisfaction is a life made livable.

Now, however, it seems as if my language resource status is beginning to crumble. For today, I was beaten at Scrabble by Mrs. Ottawacker (who came in second) and the eventual winner of the game, Ottawacker Jr. Not that they were graceless in victory (there was none of the gyrating around the table saying "eat my shorts" that has typified all my victories, for example)... but as I sat there, sullen-faced, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish in a fishbowl, I sensed an exchange of looks between the victors. They knew there had been a passing of the the guard.

Highlight of the round was QUARTZES. Double word. Seven letters. I suppose I should be proud. And I am... but, well, you know...

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