We went swimming last week. As I approached the desk, the woman attendant asked the age of my kids.
“Nine and eleven,” I said, marveling – how did they get so big?
She glanced at them and then said:
“Which one of you is nine?”
I didn’t look at my daughter. I knew her face would reflect disappointment. Having a brother who is tall is, in her mind, a real bummer.
I pointed at my son.
“He is,” I answered.
Later, if my daughter wants, I thought, she can express her frustration. For now, let’s just get through the line and in the pool.