nature or nurture
Casa de Pete
The Monkey (my 11 year old cousin, for you newcomers) is watching TV. She sees an ad for something and completely loses her mind.
“Oh my God… OH MY GOD! Camp Rock!!!!!”
I stare at her blankly.
“It’s on tomorrow night, Peter! Oh no… I am going away for the weekend. I will miss it.”
“I can record it for you.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You are AWESOME.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s the Jonas brothers. Nick is sooooo awesome… and cute!”
[A couple of things… Firstly, I am not really prepared for her thinking boys are cute. Wasn’t it just last week that she was 3 years old and making me carry her everywhere? Secondly, I was telling my folks this story and couldn’t remember which of the brothers she finds cute. My dad answered way too quickly, “It must be Nick.” I don’t know what to do with that at all. And, frankly, I don’t want to think about it anymore.]
Casa de Pete (Casa del Pete? Whatever.)
The phone rings. It is The Monkey, rambling on in French to whoever is in the room with her. She is still out of town.
“Did you record my movie?”
And because I am not above taking money from children. “Yes. And how are you going to pay for it?”
“With my presence.”
If there had been any doubt about whether or not we are related…