Adorable story that happened to me yesterday:
I was sitting on the subway typing on my computer (yes, I’m one of those people. It makes a 45-minute long train ride the perfect email response time.) A little kid walked up to me. I later found out that he was named Dylan. He had big wide eyes, was a little bit chubby, and super talkative.
Dylan: How do you TYPE so fast??!
Me: Well, it takes years of practice. I’ve been practicing for many, many years.
Dylan: How many years? Like, since December?
Me: Since.. wow. Since 1990.
His eyes went wide as saucers as he contemplated such an eternity.
Dylan: Wooooow. That’s a LONG TIME!!
Me: Yeah. How old are you?
Dylan: I’m… (he holds up five, and then switches to six, fingers)
Me: Wow, six years old? Cool! You look a lot older!
Dylan’s mom, proudly: Everyone thinks he’s a lot older. He’s the biggest kid in the grade.
Me: Cool! Everyone must look up to you, huh?
Dylan: Yeah they do!
Me: That means you were born in…
It’s at this point that I realize I am having a reasonably intelligent conversation with someone who was born in 2006. I was in college then. I remember (not so long ago) when it was strange to think that there were people alive who don’t remember 9/11.
Dylan’s mom: Yep, you got it right!
Me: Cool man! What’s your name?
Me: I’m Michael.
Dylan: (looks excitedly at mom) his name is Michael!! Now I know three…five Michaels! My cousin Michael, Michael Jackson…
Me: Hey man, this is my stop. Nice meeting you. Take care!
Dylan’s mom: Dylan, let the man off, he’s got to go.
Dylan: Byeeeee! Nice meeting you!
As I walked to the subway door about 10 feet away, I turned back and waved. Dylan, a wide grin on his face, threw his hands up and waved at me. He yelled across the train:
Dylan: I’ll keep practicing!!
Kids. So fucking cute.