The Pappa takes the brat to the park

Saturday evening, the park in the complex is a teaming mass of children down with their pappas who are teaching them boy things to do like playing football and swinging and climbing the jungle gym without fear of falling onto the soft sand, unlike the normal escort service of maids and moms who keep squeaking from the periphery at the more adventurous sorts who have managed to clamber to unseen heights and are happily screaming into the wind, as lesser souls have heart attacks and keel over on the jogging track at the site.
The brat's pint sized friends had their fathers down helping them swing across the jungle gym and cycle and such like. The pappa never takes the brat down. The brat went up and whined about it. Mamma adding requisite key to the protests. "Other pappas are teaching your son to swing and climb," she said. The shame on you hung heavy in the air between the two.
The next evening, the Pappa changed into tshirt and jeans out of the shorts he had been lolling around all day and took the brat down. The brat couldnt believe his luck. He clutched his pappa's hand bursting all over the seams, metaphorically of course, pigs will fly before the brat bursts any seams, with pride. Calling out to all his pals enroute, "Lookit my pappa's come down to playwidme tuday."
"A, A, see, my pappa's comedaun tu playwidme."
Father and son went to the sand pit, and the playing started. Only pappa had got the message confused a bit. The play in brat's dictionary had gotten confused with military training in pappa's dictionary. Mamma traipsed along the jogging track watching the duo. "Pappa, Pappa, whatchyuis doin?" "I donwantu swing again. I is nod climbing. I don wantu run ten times." The evening breeze carried the squawks of brat's protests far and clear. People came into balconies and some most naturally wondering if this needed to be reported to relevant authorities, aka mamma, and mamma fielded calls from friends asking just what the Pappa was upto that the child was yelling in protest. Many rounds of swinging, climbing, jungle gym and running later, the brat and the pappa collapsed, exhausted into a conveniently empty swing, sweat pouring off their faces. The brat sulking. The Pappa content that he had made his son that much more of a man today.
The brat sat in the world weary way he has when things dont go to script. A slight frown marring his perfect brow. Then he spoke.
"Pappa, tomorrow, led it be. Mamma will ged me to d park. You go offis."