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“What if every tow truck ran out of gas?”
“How do bodies get to heaven after they’ve been buried?”
“‘Si usted está contento y usted sabe que aplaudas! That means, ‘If you’re happy and you know it clap you hands!”
It’s not unusual for a period of 15 minutes with Squirts to follow this or some similar line of conversation. Sometimes, it’s like trying to chase popcorn. Just when you think you know where a topic is headed…pop, we’re off in another direction.
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Squirts tends to the nosy side, which I freely admit he inherited from my side of the family. What he hasn’t inherited is the subtlety to be nosy on the down low. His nosiness consists of full-on staring. You know, the turn-in-your-seat-and-ogle-at-the-lady-with-“funny eyes” kind of stare.
So, it’s boys night out while mommy is at choir practice and we’re waiting to order at our favorite taco place. After busting him several times for openly gawking at other people, I launch into a fatherly lecture about the dangers of staring.
At four years old, Squirts may be a little young to teach stealth techniques for eavesdropping and people watching. So, a few scare tactics seems more appropriate:
Nothing tests my faith more than the evil rantings of a 4-year-old.
And make no mistake – I had no doubt that Squirts’ mind, body and soul had been possessed by Satan himself. What else could explain the five-octave drop in his voice, the defiant stare of his now-dilated eyes or the smoke seeping from his ears (I swear I saw smoke!) as he declares storming toward his room:
“I will NEVER put on my Crocs and you are not my Daddy any more!”
Not five minutes earlier, he had been regaling me with a description of his dream sandwich: tear off a piece of wheat bread; put on a pancake with syrup; add gummy bears and leave off the mayonnaise. My response to this about-face in attitude: dust off the Yellow Pages and turn to letter “E” for exorcist. And I’m not even Catholic.
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