"What?" asked Conan. "Who are you talking to, Mama?"
"Oh, that car wanted to pull out in front of us. I was telling him it was OK to go."
"He can hear you?"
"No, he can't, but sometimes I talk out loud to the other cars anyway."
He thought about this for a few moments, then piped up again.
"Well, Papa usually says 'DAMMIT' when people pull out in front of him."
We were discussing bears one evening at dinner. I told Conan the story of how a bear had once broken into our car when his Papa and I were camping at Yosemite, before he was born. He wanted to know what happened to the bear.
"Well, the park rangers scared it away," I said.
"Oh. Couldn't warriors have scared the bear away?" he asked.
"Yeah, I suppose warriors could have. But the rangers were there, so they took care of it."
"Warriors could do it. Uncle Eric could have done it!"
"Uh, yeah, well, I suppose he could have..."
"You should have called Uncle Eric!" he insisted.
"I'm not sure..." I started.
"Because! Uncle Eric is a warrior!" He was getting really excited now. I was baffled.
Papa stepped in. "Lawyer. You mean lawyer. Uncle Eric is a lawyer."
But Conan wasn't convinced. Arms folded across his chest and a stubborn look on his face, he stood firm.
"No! That is not a word! Uncle Eric is a warrior!"