Yes, I’ve had many cute conversations. I am, after all, a father of three, two of whom are of the female variety. The cutest conversation, and probably the most endearing, is the one I would solicit from my youngest, who is now 8. She doesn’t do it any more, but when she started talking clearly, somewhere around 2-and-a-half-years-old, we would play a game: I would sit her on my knee, hold her close and look in her eyes and say, “Who loves you?”
Her automatic reply: “Daddy does!” We would do this many times during the week.
This was cute in and of itself, but what was cutest and most dear to me was that I could go into her room, hours after she had fallen asleep, lean over very close to her ear, and whisper, “Who loves you?” and without waking up in the slightest, she would hazily reply, “Daddy does…”
Still gets to me, even now, when I think about it…
My dad did something similar with me at 3 or 4. He would sit me on his lap and ask me if I was his daughter. “Yes” I’d say
then he’d ask me to think of the worst thing I could do. I’d usually come up with something like biting my brother and sister (who were newborn twins and always chewing on me in our little car). Then he’d ask me, if I did that would I still be his daughter? “Yes” I’d say. Would he still love me? “Yes” Would I still get in trouble? “Yes” (giggle)
It was a silly little game, but when I was 14 and 15 and nuts (don’t those two always go together?) I would remember that and think that maybe he really was trying to do right by me after all. sniff
Mrs. Shecky is a pre school teacher for 2.5-3 year olds. It’s in her class the kids learn toilet training. One of them was a little boy named Jack Edward LastName, who was exceptionally bright, even at 2 and a half, he engages in real conversations and such.
So, Jack comes in on Monday, and announces he decided to be a big boy, and use the toilet. To commemorate this new-found maturity, he decided he was to be called Edward, which was a grown-up name. The kicker is, he kept that up for the next 6 months, then went right back to being Jack again.
We lived in Pamplona; when we went to Barcelona (which in those days was like a car trip to the moon, actually the moon might have taken less time) we passed this town called Tudela. I kept calling it Midela.
We moved there when I was 4and9mo, so I was right, it’s mine.
I had a friend of mine in high school, and his little sister would refer to it as “Mom’s Ami” instead of “Miami” because that’s how her mom talked about it.
I’ve told this one before, but it’s worth repeating…
The Rykid was little, about three I think, and we were watching the movie Fantasia. There’s a part in that movie that includes dinosaurs. He loved dinos, and he could name many of them. (“That’s a triceratops. That’s a T-rex. That’s a stegosaurus.”) Well, he saw a new dino, and he asked me what that one was. I said, “That’s an archaeopteryx. Can you say arr-kee-op-ter-icks?” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said,
