Kids are supposed to love, honor, and respect their parents, right? Then why, all of the sudden, am I starting to feel more like Rodney Dangerfield than Ward Cleaver. A week or so ago my son was imitating me while jumping off a diving board into the pool. His big jump and subsequent parody included me in a La- Z- Boy flipping through channels. He didn't imitate me reading or throwing a baseball to him. He didn't even hint at the three- and- a- half years I spent trying to get him to go to sleep. Nope! Apparently, in his mind, the ol' man is just a couch potato with a remote.

Just when I was getting over the sting of that little jab, my oldest daughter decided to throw another dose of humility at me. The other night my son was doing his talking belly routine at the dinner table much to the delight of his two sisters.

"Hellooooo!" he giggled as he squeezed his belly button intimating that his stomach was giving everyone at the table a friendly greeting. I must say, for better or worse, I take credit for his talking gut.

My oldest daughter knows this, and she decided to ask after she quit laughing, "Daddy, where did you get that from because I know YOU didn't think of it?"

Despite the fact this talking stomach bit was about as worthy of inheritance as the "pull my finger" routine and that it actually did originate from an episode of Seinfeld, I was stunned by her brutal and unprovoked insolence. So I asked, "Why don't you think I could have come up with that on my own?"

"Because, Daddy," she said, "you're not that creative."

Not that creative??? She cut me right to the core. I could take "not that skinny," "not that intelligent," or "not that couth," but not that creative? That hurt.

Grant it, my ego didn't need credit for the talking stomach, but how could she think writing a weekly column took no creativity?

"It doesn't, Daddy! You just write about us. That doesn't take creativity."

Well, how about putting out a newspaper every week?

"Nope. All you're doing is telling other people's stories. How hard is that?"

What about ad design? How about that?

"Nope. There are no new ideas in advertising." How did she know that?

I was getting desperate. Suddenly, my one redeeming quality was being destroyed by a ten- year- old.

"Well, how about this?" I asked. "Everyday I have to think of new and exciting ways to entertain and occupy y'all."

"Nope. No original ideas there. You just play sports and games that have been around for years," she said as if I'd never had an idea ever that was my own.

My youngest daughter, who had been listening to the discussion intently, came to my defense. She said, "I think Daddy is very creative. He invented zurbits and wet Willies."

I didn't have the heart to tell her some other disgusting daddy in history got the credit for those, but I did tell her she was my new favorite child. I expected this little shot to get a rise from my oldest daughter, but she shook it off and casually stated, "That's not original either, Daddy. Mommy says it all the time."