"hey kid, stop jumping on my furniture!"

"It's not your furniture."

"Yes it is. I paid for it, it's mine. I just let you sit on it."

Ok. It's official. I am my dad. Yikes.

As I try to manage not losing my temper, invoking the Sicilan part of my heritage, a thought pops into my head. What would Barack Obama do? He always seems so calm, cool and collected. Will he roar at his girls if they one day, full of kid energy, tear through the Lincoln bedroom and start jumping on the heirloom historic artifacts? Will Barack lose his cool and yell, "Hey girls get off that furniture"?

It could happen to any parent.

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