By Ursula Hennessey
Paddy missed his father this week and looked for him in unusual places—the mailbox, the laundry room, under the couch. Understandable. However, as he looked through some books this afternoon, I heard myself say the following:
“No, that’s not Daddy, that’s a rhinoceros.”
“No, that’s not Daddy, that’s Martin Luther King, Jr.”
I wonder if I should call the pediatrician.