I was making an alphabet book for class. When I got to the letter I, I asked Dad what I should write about. “I . . . . I . . . . I . . .” I said, but couldn’t come up with a sentence. Dad thought about it, then said, “I have an eye.” I looked at him and he kept his face straight.
“I have . . . an eye?” I said.
“Yes. I have an eye.”
There was a pause before we both burst into laughing, staring at each other’s eyes, laughing even harder.
After I drew a picture of a girl’s head with one big eyeball in the middle, Dad laughed hard again and I laughed so hard at him laughing that he kept on laughing, and I kept on laughing, and we both laughed for a very long time.
Thank you, Dad, for teaching me how to laugh and how to not take things like homework and teachers too seriously.