SMART KIDS

Today I saw my nephew, whom I adore. The feeling is mutual. He wanted to know why. I told him that when he was five, and my sister asked me what I thought of him – like, what I really really thought – I told her to give me three days to think about it. We went shopping one day and after coming home with lots of bags and being tired, we threw everything on the floor. I could tell that my nephew – 5 at the time – started hyperventilating. He hated the mess. He asked for permission to do something about it. It was granted. He started arranging all the bags along the radiator and the wall, in the order of their height and weight. It took some deliberation to make them look like soldiers, as not all the biggest were also the heaviest. But he managed. After he finished, he pulled his chair next to mine, and with his hands crossed over his chest contemplating his work, he exclaimed, “now, that is perfect, don’t you think?” Indeed, he was right. I told my sister that she had a really really smart kid, and that she was lucky. Things haven’t changed since then, I’m glad to say. My nephew, now 15, got even smarter. He knows what’s what, and he knows how to court really really interesting women. I told him that I like him because he has an innate sense of distinction. I do like kids. Some kids.