I am beautiful in the water.

So I was just thinking back on something that happened a while ago and thought I might share the story.

My friends, Pete & Jo, have a son named Sam. They've turned him into a Dr. Who fan at an early age, and it's fun watching him geek out. I mean, how surreal is it to watch a five-year old--the age he was at the time of this story--run around and spout off details about Daleks, sonic screwdrivers, and the TARDIS? Let me tell you, it ranks right up there; almost as high as watching him freak out in his crib wearing the pair of huge green Hulk hands I bought him before he could even walk. He didn't have arms anymore, only shoulders that sprouted foam fists which growled and made smashing noises, but that's really another story altogether.

Anyway, I stopped by one day for some reason or another, and Pete took me upstairs to show me the TARDIS console that he and Sam built out of cardboard boxes, duct tape (of course), and random sciency-looking gadgets from around the house. There's a large amount of custom fabrication in this particular household, and Sam is (was) a five-year old after all, so having something built from spare parts doesn't seem all that out of the ordinary. I think what did it for me was watching him pull levers like mad, screaming about time travel and saving Earth from Daleks, and otherwise displaying an eerie comprehension of themes gleaned from storylines that should be way too complex for someone who had only recently begun spelling his own name legibly.

As I ooo'ed and aahh'ed over his creation, I did what most adults would do to someone Sam's age; I talked down to him. Well, not really down to him--it was more like polite condescension. All I said, with the pure intention of making him feel good about his TARDIS console, was, "Man, Sam, I sure wish I had one of these."

Sam paused to regard me with a strange look on his face. "Whatever," he said.

After a split-second, Pete and I started laughing and turned to head back down the stairs. Pete proclaimed in a tone that rang with both fatherly pride and pity (for me) that I just got dissed by a five-year old.

"Yeah, and I didn't even have a comeback," I said between chuckles. That was the last time I talked down to Sam, come to think of it, but he still punishes me for it by pummeling me with plastic light-sabers.