On my way in to work today, I was walking down the main hall of the hospital behind a father and his young son. The father looked like a typical Southern Illinois dad; camo Carhartt jacket, camo ball cap, blue jeans and muddy boots. Son had a bright orange t-shirt and a buzz cut, and was waving his arms above his head in ethereal slow motion.
Since I walk a lot faster than six year olds with gently waving arms like flower petals in a breeze, I caught up to them in time to hear this exchange:
Son: "Look, Dad! I'm a ballerina! I have purple flowers in my hair, tucked behind my ears."
Dad: "Well, don't."
And I thought, that's going to be a difficult relationship in a couple of years.