Because of my son’s ear tubes, I still have to help him at bath time. The last thing we need is an ear drum full of playground scum mixed with shampoo.
As I was lifting him out of the tub last night, I grabbed him with the towel and said, “Come here, Mister”.
He corrected me and replied, “I’m a Master”.
I smiled. “That’s true. You’ll be a Master for a few more years and then you’ll be a Mister, and your sister will be a Miss until she gets married.” As I handed him his pajama shirt I said, “When you get big, you’ll get married too.”
I brushed his hair. “You will if you want to.” Then, thinking he might give me a hint as to whether he has a crush on anyone I asked, “Who do you think you’ll marry?”
He thought for a moment then said, “I think I’ll marry my sister”.
I laughed. “You can’t marry your sister. You can’t marry me, or your Dad, or your cousins, or anyone else in our family.” I left out the part about some places in the world which still let you do that. I’m talking to you, West Virginia.
“So, since you can’t marry your sister, who do you think it will be?”
And, I will never accuse my boy of not aiming for the top because he went ever so slightly higher than his sibling when he exclaimed, “I want to marry Jesus!”