Fried cat tail? Andrew smiles and takes a huge bite of a corn dog. I'm seven years old, and we're back together for the summer or at least a week of it during midway season, which my family spent travelling all around the coast each year.
They're not cat tails! I'm scornful and bossy. We're equals in this relationship. He teases me and I call him out because I'm convinced I am smarter.
Would you rather have a candy apple? Those brown ones are rotten. They've been in the window too long. They give those ones out at night when people can't see so good.
So well.
Oh well is right. We won't be here that late anyway so we're safe.
They're caramel, Andrew. Geeeeez.
Nope. Rotten red. Old candy coating. It petrifies.
Petri-what?
Petrifies. That means it gets hard and turns to stone because it has air circulation so it doesn't get moldy.
Oh.
Why don't you know these words?
I go to French school.
Oh yeah. What about math?
I do it in French.
Are the numbers the same?
I think so.
But what if you have a math problem in English?
I'll have to ask someone to do it for me. Just like if someone has a French math problem they can ask me.
But are you any good at it?
No, not really.
Then I'll buy you a cat tail to eat because I feel bad for you. And I got my allowance this morning.
How much did you get?
Five dollars.
Wow. Lucky.
I got a raise because I turned eight, remember?
Yeah. Andrew?
Yeah?
Do you think we'll still be doing this when we're grownups?
Of course. But we'll have way more money to spend. And I'll still be able to help you with the English math.
Promise?
Of course.
