I Girl

I bought shoes for Henry the other day at Mobleys, a little ma and pop shoe store just down the street. I buy all our shoes there, where we can't really afford to be shopping. But after years of bringing home cheap shoes that didn't fit right, I decided that I can buy one expensive pair for the same price as two cheap pairs--one of which ends up too tight for my children's gigantically wide feet, and the other which falls apart early.

This time around, Henry chose a dusty gray-blue tennis shoe, complete with gray soles. He was happy about the shoes mostly because they were new. I was happy because the color will stay the same no matter what mud puddle he tromps in.

The next day I told Henry that I would be taking Jackie to get shoes at Mobleys. Henry's eyes widened with delight: "Jackie get shoes like mine?"

"No, Henry," I answered. "Jackie will probably get pink shoes. She's a girl."

Indignant, Henry straightened his wide shoulders, puffed out his chest, looked me in the eye, and asserted, "I girl."

"No," I replied, "You boy."

He insisted without even a blink, "No. I girl."

I suppose I'll talk to him more about that when he's a little bigger.