One of the characteristics in which my wife and I take great pride, is our children’s willingness to help. In fact each day in my house is punctuated with a series of “Can-I-helps?” As I’m preparing oatmeal in the morning, “Can I help?” As I’m washing the dishes, “Can I help?” Cooking black-eyed peas for New Year’s Eve, “Can I help?” Taking the Christmas tree out to the alley, “Can I help?” Working with dangerous, power tools, “Can I help?”

As I said we are extremely proud of them and usually we do what we can to encourage this behavior. The other day my wife took them shopping; with the sole purpose of buying my eight-year old daughter pants. While they were shopping, Tricia noticed that bras were on sale. She hesitantly ventured into that section of the store.

“We can help Mommy, what size do you wear?” asked Taylor. My wife paused before reluctantly answering. “What?!” asked my six-year old son Morgan, who is known for yelling “What?!” immediately after anything is said. It’s not that he doesn’t hear. He just doesn’t listen. My wife repeated herself, more loudly than she really wanted. “Here’s a 32B!” shouted Morgan. “No that’s not what I’m looking for.” “Mommy the boys at school call them ‘boobs.’ Is that O.K.?” My daughter asked. “No.” My wife said, “They’re called breasts.” “That’s what I thought.” Said Taylor, “I just couldn’t remember what they’re called.” “What?!” asked Morgan poking absent-mindedly at various bras. “Nothing Morgan.” Said Tricia. “This one has some stuff in it. Do you want the one with stuff?!” He yelled. “No. I don’t need that one Morgan.” “It’s blue, you like blue!!” “No Morgan…” “Oh here’s one that says 32DD!” He exclaimed triumphantly, holding the bra aloft. “No, that’s not it either but thank you. I think I’ve found everything I need.” My wife murmured and led them hastily out of the lingerie department empty handed.