I admit it: I was feeling smug.
My son — my flesh and blood — had spent a morning to himself creating this elaborate contraption he entitled “Super Ramp.” It involved a barn and antique-looking cars from our train set, and a ramp and signs made from a cardboard box and red pen.
I thought about all the kids zoned out in front of TVs right then, at this, the dead center of our summer break, and I felt even more smug about my child’s creativity.
Even his photos of it were creative.
So I told him, “I’m so proud of you. Other parents complain about their kids spending their summers in front of the TV or playing video games. But not you. You created something.”
And he replied, “I just didn’t feel like cleaning my room.”