For over a week now my son has been obsessed.

He hasn’t stopped talking about it.

He clearly hasn’t stopped thinking about it.

Some children have imaginary friends.

Most children like to play “pretend”.

My son is convinced that he is a robot.

Not long ago he was a “real live ninja“.

Before that he was Leonardo of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles™.

But I think he is serious this time.

And he has informed me that I, too… am a robot.  And that we are a team.

The running dialogue really kicked up tempo this past weekend when I moved some furniture around in our home.  He was my helper, handing me tools as I needed them.  We worked together for a couple of hours, the entire time he filled our conversation about what he was programmed to do, what his buttons did, what his job was.

He told me that we recharge and get “more powers” when we drink ice-cold milk.

He re-boots at night when he sleeps in his bed.

He told me that we needed to keep our robot identity a secret – because it could put us in danger if anyone found out.  Oops.

He even said that when he went to the bathroom he was just getting rid of the brown metal that he didn’t need anymore.

Each morning we wake up and my daughter asks (hopefully, wistfully, almost anxiously), “do you think he’s forgotten about he robot thing yet?

He hasn’t.  

And I’m OK with that.

I know he won’t think he’s we’re robots forever.

It’s kinda fun being a robot with him.

I love that he is so creative, so imaginative, so out of the box with his thinking.

And I know that he won’t always want me to be a part of where his mind takes him.

Today he’s a robot.  A pretty darn cute robot.

Next week?  Who knows. 

I. Am. A. Robot.


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