A few years back when my son was in Kindergarten, he was invited to a classmate’s birthday party. I was milling about with the adults when one of the moms approached me all serious like. She pulls out a piece of paper from her purse and says “Mr. Cheesesteak, your son drew this and gave it to me when I was volunteering with the class.”
I look at the paper. It’s a penis. A classic Middle-School-Boys-Bathroom-Graffiti penis. The two balls at the bottom the erect penis in between.
She says “Do you know what this is a picture of?”
Me “Ummmmmm.”
Her “It’s a pair of scissors.” and starts howling with laughter. I can only imagine the conversation when he handed it to her in class.
My mom: Guess how old I will be on my next birthday?
My 9-year old nephew once-removed (my sister’s grandson): 156!
Family (cracking up): Lower!
Nephew: 144!
Family (cracking up): Lower!
Nephew: 136?
Family: (still dying of laughter): Lower!
Nephew: But… she HAS to be older than Karen!
Family except for me: (cannot draw breath laughing so hard)
Me: ?!?!?!?!
Yeah, that got unfunny real fast. (I have no idea how old nephew thinks I am…)
Many, many years ago, I went to visit my sister. She picked me up at the airport and went to the elementary school afterwards to pick up here daughter (in first grade, she is now a college graduate). My niece told me, on the way back home, that it was a sad day. Her cat, Rufus died that day. I told my niece that was truly sad. I asked my sister about Rufus, as she told me years ago that Rufus had died. My sister said, yes, Rufus died two years ago. That the school had called her earlier about her daughter being traumatized about the pet’s death. She assured them the child was just echoing what my sister had said that morning at breakfast, that two years ago Rufus had died and that the family should remember Rufus. The school thought the child was having trouble accepting the death of a pet, where the reality was she was just memorializing her friend.
Both my daughters (now four and seven, but when they were just becoming verbal) were really into “thank you” and “you’re welcome” and would use them, often correctly, at every possible opportunity. They also liked to be thanked for things, so they could say “you’re welcome.”
The older girl, though, somehow mixed up please and thank you, and ultimately settled on just running them together into one all-purpose word – thanyouyou’rewelcome.