My daughter broke her femur while trying to stop her bike by skidding on gravel when she was only six years old. I held her hand as she lay sedated on the table in the emergency room. We were both in tears. “Honey,” I whispered, stroking her head, “I sure wish I were the one with the broken leg instead of you.” In a groggy voice, she said,
“So do I.”
I love the transparency of kids! You usually know right where you stand with them.
While we were sitting on a sunny beach in Puerto Rico, four-year-old Susan spread sand over her thighs. I copied her, but I couldn’t quite cover mine. I looked at the uncovered parts of my legs and said, “Wow, my legs look like little sausages.” She immediately said, “No, they don’t. They look like giant sausages.”
One night when we went to supper at the house of some new friends, I brought along a dessert our family loves – Peanut Butter Pie. Their ten-year-old daughter cautiously took a small slice just to try it and returned with her verdict. “I really liked the pie,” she said politely. “But then I’m not that picky.”
Three-year-old Ben ran in from outdoors to go to the bathroom and scrambled to remove his boots first.
Dad: Ben, you don’t have to take off your boots.
Ben: Yes I do, they’re yucky.
Ben: They got pee in them.
Dad: Next time, you’ll have to come in sooner.
Ben: Next time, I’ll just pee outside.