On our way home, the red-head was pondering what he wants to be when he grows up. The conversation went something like this:
"Mommy, I think I am going to be an operator when I grow up".
(Me), "What kind of an operator"
(Red) "You know the kind that cuts people open and makes them better".
(Me) "Those are called surgeons and (my heart swelling with pride at the thought of my doctor son) they are very important people. They help others who are sick".
(The Red) "Maybe I will be a millitary man, but what if my plane blows up and I die"?
(Mom, whose not liking this thought) "I don't want to think about that. I think you should be an operator".
(The, 6 going on 26, red-on-the-head) "But mom! I have to live my dream"!
Well, what can I say to that?