Our little neighborhood has a crew of kids who run in a pack from house to house. Apparently, our house must have the most comfortable toilet as we are the pooping house. It’s a compliment, I am told.
Henry built a small LEGO vending machine. I dug up a penny and bought a single M&M. The M&M was wet with his sweat.
As we were driving the dog to the vet’s for neutering Kahena asked what the procedure entailed. I used the most technical of terms to describe it. She was not satisfied with my answer. I tried a less medical approach to the answer but it didn’t seem to satisfy her need to know what we were going to be putting her dog through. I tried an even less obtuse description of neutering. Still, she was unsatisfied. Finally, after I’d given a more, uhm, ‘workman-like’ description of the events her dog faced she started telling him (so everyone could hear, including in the parking lot and at the office) ‘they’re gonna cut your balls off, they’re gonna cut your balls off.’
I have two children on opposite sides of the empathy spectrum. Henry hurts at the death of a fly. Kahena laughs at Henry when he stubs his toe, falls to the floor and wails. I got her a dog for this reason. Having an animal at her age, six, is supposed to engender empathy. She now does seem to have some sense that other people have feelings. The dog fix seems to be working. Well, except when she’s singing to the dog ‘they cut your balls off, they cut your balls off!’
