Yesterday, my wife was at home all day watching our kids, plus one of my 2-year-old daughter’s best friends, James – a strapping blonde male who is a full year her senior.
They of course got along like peas & carrots, the two of them playing together and having a great time.
When I got home from work, after having fun playing with them for a while, we sat down in my daughter’s room to read a story about the FAVORITE subject for either my daughter or her friend: Thomas the Tank Engine. However, my daughter got a little too engaged into the story, and forgot where she was, and then WHOMP! She toppled off the bed backwards and fell on the floor square on her back. HARD.
Crying ensued, and then after getting her back up onto the bed, I was about to administer a “Tell me About It” assist, as gone over in the Volunteer Minister materials. However, my daughter’s concerned, 3-year-old buddy (incidentally also from a Scientologist family) beat me to the punch. I just stood and watched, slack-jawed, as the following dialog transpired:
James (after kissing her head): “What happened, Mackenzie?”
Mackenzie: “I fell down – on the ploor.”
James: “Oh, you went down?”
Mackenzie: “Ya – I went down off the bed bap-wards, James. I bonked.”
James: “Oh. Are you OK now?”
Mackenzie: “Ya – I’m o-tay. What’s Thomas doing?”
…and they both proceeded to read the Thomas book like nothing had happened.
I basically dissolved on the bed in omigodthatwassocute parental tears.