My daughter and I returned a short while ago from a week's vacation in South Carolina.
On the flight from Dulles my daughter kept singing, "We're goin' down, down, down into a burnin' ring of fire" with a Southern twang that is not her own. I have no idea where she learned the song; we have never listened to Johnny Cash at home.
Before long, the song had turned to, "We're goin' down, down, down in a burnin' ring of airplane" and I had to ask her to put a sock in it.
My wife picked us up from the airport and as I lounged on the sofa weary with jet lag, my daughter had asked my wife to help her with her writing.
My wife chose two words for my daughter to practice her penmanship on: Happy and Love.
"What word would you like to practice writing?" asked my wife.
"Corpse," replied my daughter, matter-of-factly.
I hope she's not working on my Father's Day card already.