Where phobias come from

So to reward my son for not making me sling him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes in order to get him into the car this morning, I took him to Schlotzky’s this afternoon, and then to Town Lake to feed the ducks.

As I was sitting on a rock watching the ducks fight over stale pizza crusts, I overheard an older woman explaining to her grandson why he should not play ring-around-the-cypress tree right at the water’s edge. Here’s how it went:

Grandma: “Honey, you should stay away from there.”

Little boy: “Why?”

Grandma (in a sugary, high-pitched voice): “Really, sweetheart. I think it’s time to go.”

Little boy: “Why can’t I go around the tree first?”

Grandma: “Because if you fell in, I wouldn’t be able to get you out before you drowned.”

Yes, that’s right. Drowned. (The water, incidentally, was about a foot deep.)

I’d love to be a fly on the wall at the poor kid’s first swimming lesson.

Anyway, I’ve got to get another few hundred words in and check the laundry…

Happy Friday, everyone!