The scene:
I am sitting at the computer, attempting to concentrate on work and trying to filter out the contented mumblings of beloved daughter who is sat on the floor with pens and paper, being creative and that...
R: Daddy, can I borrow the scissors?
Me: Of course. What do you want them for?
R: I want to cut out your heart.
I can feel my mind snap back from the screen and into my immediate surroundings, as a chill runs down the bit of my spine that still works.
Had I heard correctly? Has our daughter become a Goth at 4 years old? Perhaps she is taking the first steps on a career path as a coroner?
I look down. She looks up. Then she raises a piece of paper.
R: Look, Daddy. I've drawn a big heart for you.
I am sitting at the computer, attempting to concentrate on work and trying to filter out the contented mumblings of beloved daughter who is sat on the floor with pens and paper, being creative and that...
R: Daddy, can I borrow the scissors?
Me: Of course. What do you want them for?
R: I want to cut out your heart.
I can feel my mind snap back from the screen and into my immediate surroundings, as a chill runs down the bit of my spine that still works.
Had I heard correctly? Has our daughter become a Goth at 4 years old? Perhaps she is taking the first steps on a career path as a coroner?
I look down. She looks up. Then she raises a piece of paper.
R: Look, Daddy. I've drawn a big heart for you.
Leave a comment