The Boy: Papa, look at the marigolds.
K: What did he say?
D: I think he said “marigolds.”
K: He did NOT say “marigolds.”
Grandpa: Yep. I think he said “marigolds.”
K: What did you say, Eat?
The Boy: Look at the marigolds, Mama. They pretty.
D: He said “marigolds.”
K: Are they marigolds? What the hell does a marigold look like? Isn’t that thing a mum?
D: I don’t know what a marigold is. Dad, is that a marigold?
Grandpa: (reaching over to pluck it) Yep. It’s a marigold.
K: Quick, quick, Eat! What’s the cure for cancer?
You know. It was all fine and dandy when he came home the first day of school wanting to look at the world through the triangle he made with his fingers, but I think it’s a little crazy now. And I shouldn’t complain because he came home from school the other day and asked to sweep the floor for me and to fold the laundry. I could be well on my way to the ultimate in laziness. But let’s all admit that it is a little disconcerting. What’s next? Calculus?