Thread by @TheByler

Story time, Twitter peeps. Buckle up. This one's special. #tweetstory

So... once a month we have Men's Night at our church where we do a dinner and devotional and just hang out. Free food and sports talk are foundational to any room called a "fellowship hall".

But my wife works Tuesday nights, and I'm on daddy duty. So my 3-year-old daughter just tags along, sits in the corner, colors, eats, etc. But tonight... tonight was Fried Taco Night. 🌮🌮🌮

She had never had fried tacos. Turns out, baby girl LOVES fried tacos. Nevermind that these fried tacos were held together with toothpicks, which I didn't realize until she bit into one and looked up at me as if I were the most negligent father in the world.

It was a fair criticism, all things considered. But the brief betrayal was only a speed bump. She scarfed down two fried tacos like a pro. She's her father's daughter.

But between bites, she paused, momentarily leaned over and a look came over her face. The moment passed and she continued to eat, but I had noticed something wasn't quite right.

She confirmed it when she leaned over and whispered, "Daddy, I tootie farted." That's her phrase for it. I took it as a cute little moment. I should have taken it as a warning.

Twice more she got the look, took the lean and let 'er rip. I didn't think much of it. She's 3. They didn't stink, made no sound, and I was busy trying to hold typical manly church conversations: baseball, thunderstorms and recent advances in lawn mower technology.

But then her whispers suddenly became more firm in tone. "DADDY! I have to go POTTY!" No need to panic. She's a pastor's kid at church. "OK, you know where to go." And off she went.

A 3-year-old pastor's kid knows where to do her business at church. Down the hall, around the corner, into the pre-school bathroom with a kid-sized potty under the watchful eyes of giraffes, elephants and other ark-confined mammals on the wall.

Well, out of sight, out of mind, as they say, and I was heavily invested in more manly conversations using words like "spring football" and "transfer portal" when I hear the sweet, precious voice of my 3-year-old girl.

Her voice, coming from somewhere behind me, had a tone of joy mixed with pride, and her volume was at 11. "DADDY, I went POOP in the POTTY!!!"

Well, I felt embarrassment before I even turned around. But in a group of men, I thought, we'd all get a laugh out of this. After all, we had worked hard at this potty-training thing, and this was progress.

But there were no light-hearted chuckles. Instead, I saw a couple of surprised looks on the other men's faces. One had a look of horror. Two men physically ran in the opposite direction. Why?

Because as I turned around I saw what they saw: there, standing tall in the middle of 14 church-attending, God-fearing men, was my 3-year-old daughter, proudly holding the bottom canister of a pre-school potty with a massive, fried taco-sized turd right there for all to see.

The sight of it alone was jarring. But then there was the smell. It was... fresh. And pungent. And quickly spreading. All this eminating from a little girl with the biggest, most proud smile on her face, looking up at her daddy for approval, support, affirmation.

Now I've never been known to be a speedy man. But I'm pretty sure I pulled a 4.4 forty time as I grabbed the canister out of my daughter's hands, scooped her up and scampered out of the room and back down the hall.

The men's laughter followed me out of the room, and I believe some of them may never look at my daughter the same again. And that's how, on Fried Taco Night at a men's church dinner, my 3-year-old daughter became one of the guys. #theend