I am in love with my 8 year-old’s mind. I am frequently agog at the observations and proclamations emanating from his maw. His brain works differently than mine does; maybe different from any other brains I have encountered.

Take this morning. In the midst of an embarrassingly harried sprint out of our home to a soggy lacrosse game in Mill Valley, Ev chimes, “Every mime should know how to moonwalk.”

Say what?

Believe me, this commandment was completely and utterly out of the blue, unprompted, nothing to do with anything. I’m replaying the prior 30 minutes in my head right now, and there were zero hints. No Michael Jackson YouTube videos circa his blazing-scalp Pepsi commercial days. No Marcel Marceau biographies lying about the house. Nothing.

Where does he come up with this? I haven’t the slightest, and that’s the beauty of it. What other ideas are rattling around in there, to be popped out like the next bingo ball?

He has done this for as long as I can remember.

A few years back, around the time of President Obama’s first election victory, we were espousing the virtues of that historic development, in a high-minded NPR devotee type of way. You know, where you catch yourself speaking as if you were 30 years older, totally boring, out of body experience but you can’t help yourself. As we, or maybe I, continued prattling on, Ev brought his singular point of view to bear, instantly putting our preachy speech into perspective —

“Maybe I could be Obama,” he proclaimed from the backseat.

From his car seat in the backseat. I remember this clearly because that precocious comment caused me to snap my eyes up to the rear view mirror to discover just who the hell had just said that. I half-expected to see my still baby-ish son with different colored eyes, possessed by some older presence.

Nope, it was all Everett.

I can’t wait ’til the drive back home from this soggy lacrosse game in Mill Valley. God knows what’ll come out of his mouth next. I don’t want to miss a syllable of it.

Thanks for reading.