Speaking of kids, my latest with the nephews:



We're explaining to two-year-old Daniel the idea that his father is my little brother. He glances up at his six-foot-plus Dad then shakes his head, giving me the "boy, are you stupid" look. I get the bright idea to pull out old family photos as visual aids. He looks at a few family portraits, pointing to people. "Who this?" he demands. "That's me," I say. After a few rounds, he seems to get the rough concept, though real understanding won't come until later. I turn to the snapshots.



Me at three talking on a toy phone. "Who that?" "That's me playing with my toy phone." "I want play with phone." "You can't, we don't have it anymore. It was a long time ago."



Me at two riding on one of those toy horses on springs. "Who that?" "That's me on my toy horsie." "I want play with horsie." "You can't, I don't have it anymore. Don't you have your own horsie?"



We repeat this bit with a big wheel, a doll, a bozo-the-clown punching bag. The kid starts eyeing me like I've got some secret stash of toys hidden somewhere in the house. I don't think I ever convinced him. He's still contemplating taking me out and conducting a room-to-room search for the loot. If you read I've died by tripping on a small "Thomas the Tank Engine" left conveniently near the top of the stairs, you'll know.