Still Drowning

When F. was little, we spent some time living with my parents in Vermont before heading to Karachi for fieldwork. F. was three at the time. He had gotten mad at S. and me for some reason, and informed us that he was going to "run away, fall in the pond and drown." (Clearly we had told him over and over not to go outside without us or he could fall in the pond and drown; be careful or he could fall in the pond and drown; wait for us or he could fall in the pond and drown). Anyway, a little later, we were sitting in the car, my parents in front, S. and F. and I in the back, and I asked F. if he was feeling any better. His answer: "Nope. Still drowning."

My parents have gotten a lot of mileage from this story. But here's my point: last night, S. and I were remembering this, when it occured to us that R.--our 8-year old--has never gotten mad at us. Ever. Yikes! Maybe he's saving it all for puberty.