Let This Be a Lesson

My boys, certainly all boys, find it exciting to drive past emergency vehicles when their lights are flashing.  Their faith in my clairvoyance is unfailing.  Surely, I already know exactly what has happened, what is happening and what is about to happen, even at a thousand paces.  Occasionally, however, my psychic skills are preempted, in this case by a two-year-old.

As we drove slowly past, donning our rubber necks, we were witness to the handcuffing of a man bent over the hood of a squad car.

"Uh oh," Justin said.  "Someone broke something."

Indeed.  Unfortunately, at this very moment, the toddler in the back seat is wondering what got broken and why he is full of snips and snails and puppy dog tails.  How does one begin to explain the difference between the law and the living room lamp?

One doesn't.

One simply agrees.  "Whatever was broken must have been very important," you say, tossing in the most recent example of destruction and melee at the hands of your son for emphasis.  Then you mentally bookmark this page in the book of life for future reference and employment.  Trust me, you will refer to it often.

Is that mean and underhanded?  No.  That's just how to speak Boy.

- 14 August 2003