Sharks bite

A few years ago, in our courting days, Peter & I visited Chicago, where we museumed up a storm: The Art Institute, Science & Industry, Natural History, the planetarium AND the Shedd Aquarium. I remembered being charmed during a high-school trip to the aquarium by how the sharks seemed to press up against the glass in their huge central tank gawping at the people with the same touristic interest as the people displayed in them. When Peter and I were there, it was just the same, except maybe the sharks had grown a little jaded since 1987. 
A six-or-so-year-old boy was one of the crowd. After a bit, he said to his mother, his voice quavering with intensity, "Mommy, I want to be a hammerhead shark." She offered some generic motherly response. "Mommy," he reiterated. "I really want to be a hammerhead shark. I really want to be a hammerhead shark." It was obvious that he thought if he could just make her understand the seriousness of his desire, she would do something about it.
That little boy popped into my head this morning--Dad's 68th birthday--when I was talking to Mom on the phone. "I miss Dad," I told her. And then I heard the little boy talking: "Mom, I really miss him."

Dressed to the nines for the Children's Corner Daddy Party

On Porquerolles for Jabotte's 80th birthday party

I really do.