Dat

I am about as unhip as they come.
The fact that I said unhip should give you a clue.
So when The Man told me Boo knew how to Dat, I thought he was mispronouncing a word.
After a conversation reminiscent of Abbott and Costello's "Who's on First?" skit, I finally figure out that a Dat is to slap fists.
I think.
At school, Boo was allowed to pick how he would be greeted each day based upon pictures on a wall, and, of course, being my child, he chose the one that looks like people punching each other. I'm sure he thought it actually meant he did get to punch someone, and was surprised when it didn't work out quite the way he'd imagined.
And so we have been datting (is that a word?) all weekend.
And now the baby can dat.
Everyone but me seems to understand what dat means.
But I, being a semi decent mother, hold out a fist and let him punch at mine, hoping that he will pick another greeting more in line with my own personal mentality.
Like a firm handshake.
A hearty hello.
A wave.
And not something that requires his pants to be around his knees.
Because dat? Not cool at all with this mama.