Every night my littler one has to read to me out loud for 20 minutes. He usually picks nonfiction and I like it because I learn interesting facts, like that beluga mothers shoot hot creamy milk into their babies' mouths. That little morsel made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but most other times I expand my knowledge rather than feel like taking a shower.
For quite a few days in a row he was reading a biography of Ronald Reagan. I know. It was Dutch this and Dutch that, and was pretty boring as biographies go. What I'm saying is that Ronald Reagan is no Clara Barton. Anyway, one day he got to the exciting assassination attempt. I listened that day because it was finally interesting.
He read, "The president and his aides got into the car." He then stopped, puzzled.
"I didn't know Ronald Reagan had AIDS, Mom."
I had to explain to my child of the new millenium that it was not, in fact, HIV to which they referred but instead a helper sort of person employed by the important among us. Lest it sound like I remained calm, let me assure you that I nearly shot protein bar out of my nose in a failed attempt not to crack up.
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