“You can’t always be a cool cat.”
I drove my two youngest children and a couple of their friends home from school, and after a block the four of them – ages nine to twelve – were cracking jokes in such rapid fire that I was laughing my ass off.
A few blocks later, somebody asked what you’d do with a million dollars. A riotous round of funny answers followed. [continue reading…]
“All the things I can do … “
I was walking home after work and took a shortcut through the plaza, where I saw a couple of my kids’ friends in the playground, on the seesaw.
Then I spotted my nine-year-old daughter, who said, “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey,” I said. [continue reading…]
“You say circle, I say cír-culo.”
My three children are bilingual, but in that enviable way. They speak with “proper” accents in both languages: Porteño Spanish, as in what’s spoken in Buenos Aires, and American English, but with a smattering of English words picked up from their British mum, except that they say “mom.” [continue reading…]