Over dinner on Wednesday night, just as little Robby was pulling his sister over for turning left into the dining room during rush hour, his proud parents informed their guests that their son had recently informed them he suddenly wants to be a police officer.
“It happened yesterday evening, while watching the news,” the mother says, employing the universal hand gesture for ‘get ready this story is going to hit you right in the adorable.’ In the corner of the room Robby is telling his sister she matches the description of a suspect wanted in a violent toilet-paper incident that just occurred in the bathroom.
“They had just finished airing a piece on a policeman killing a someone – you know, one of those ones from last week – and his father and I were agreeing it’s just terrible that these police officers even have to defend themselves for doing their jobs, when Robby said,” here she pauses and holds her husband’s hand while biting her lip with barely suppressed pride. Robby now has his sister on the ground and is kneeling on her head while he radios for backup, warning her if she reaches for her Frozen doll again he’d make her wish she hadn’t.
‘Let it go lady. Let it go. I. Told. You. Let. It. Go.” Robby’s face reddens as his sister begins to cry at the injustice of it all.
At the table his mother tops up everyone’s lemonade before admonishing her son.
“Robby, read your sister her rights before you ignore them. Yes I know she was resisting, but you still have to at least try. Anyway,” she continues in the same lighthearted patter, “After listening to his dad and I talk for awhile, he said, in the sweetest possible voice: Mommy, I don’t think I want to be a fireman anymore.”