Conversations

Donovan here. I've noticed recently that Jackson and I have been engaging in particularly insightful discourse. In the back seat of the car, over dinner, while he's sitting on my head, wherever. I find myself learning a lot from these Socratic moments. So, as a service to you, I offer textual recreations of some of our more poignant interactions.

SCENE 1
In the van, driving down a rural Virginia highway. The sun is shining. Jack Johnson's on the CD player, his soothing vocals and languid chords washing over us. All seems well with the world. After a protracted silence, Jackson turns to Donovan and says matter-of-factly...

Jackson: Donovan, are you afraid of robots?
Donovan: (with confidence) No.
Jackson: Well, you should be.

SCENE 2
On the beach, at the edge of the water. Jackson hurries over, soaking wet and breathing hard from three straight hours of running around like a nutjob. Donovan is in the process of building a simple sand castle.

Jackson: Donovan, that's a really great sand castle.
Donovan: Thank you, Jackson.
Jackson: (jumps as high as he can with both feet and lands, Bob-Beamon style, on top of the mound of sand, crushing it as flat as Dad's new haircut. As he runs off into an approaching wave, he yells over his shoulder something that sounds like...) YAHTZEEE!

SCENE 3
Driveway at dusk. Bicycles litter the front lawn, balls of various type and size are scattered under cars and bushes. Donovan, having been the victim, yet again, of an errant "corner kick", lies dazed on his back near the soccer goal.

Donovan: Jackson, come here!
Jackson: (running over) What is it, Donovan?
Donovan: (whispering) Jackson...
Jackson: (leaning closer, just inches away) What do you want, little weegey, weegey...
Donovan grabs Jackson, pulls him to the ground, and rolls over on top of him, gritting his teeth and trying his best to squeeze all the air out of Jackson's lungs...
Jackson: RED CARD! MOM, DAD! DONOVAN NEEDS A RED CARD... GET OFF ME, DONOVAN! REDDDDD CAAAARDDDDD!!!!