My three-year-old son, Eli, is whip-smart and ferociously independent. He loves to play the guitar and sing Jewish songs (that he learns in pre-school), wearing his yarmulke like our Rabbi.
He's the most energetic little boy I know. He'll play for hours out back, bouncing a whiffle ball of our concrete patio and whacking it with his bat. It's a treat to feel one of his screaming line drives whiz past your ear.
The boy is also a complete sponge when it comes to soaking stuff up. As Lisa and I discussed the election, sharing a few details with Eli's older brother Max, he took it all in. He even sat with me during the debates and laughed when I yelled at the TV after a particularly loathesome McCain answer.
Since the election is over, I've noticed that Eli calls any young, thin, handsome black man "Barack Obama." Last night we were out at a restaurant with our next door neighbor, and Eli actually pointed to a black man and said, "Barack Obama." I was not sure of what to say except to say in a silly way, "No, Eli, Barack Obama lives all the way in Washington where he's getting ready to be president. He doesn't come to this restaurant to eat." Then he pointed to the man's female companion, an Asian woman and said, "Barack Obama." And then he started swaying in his seat and singing, "Barack Obama. Barack Obama." Man, this kid's hilarious.
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