When Did He Get Taste?

Littlest One came downstairs after ten last night, complaining that big brother was keeping the light on to read.  My call upstairs produced a cry of, "I'm innocent!"  which was not terribly useful.

"Mom, can I start down here?" asked Littlest One.

"No, there's been too much fighting over that," I said gently, wishing it weren't so.

"Two minutes?" he begged.

I smiled and said, "Two minutes." and like a flash he was into our bed, snuggling -with the little lamp on next to him.  I wondered who the light culprit upstairs had been.

Two minutes later, I headed into our room to find him looking over a book.

"Now, Mom," he said, quite seriously. "For next fall, I want some shirts that are kind of like these." He pointed to a cartoon- like boy character from the The Teacher from The Black Lagoon series. It looked like a simple striped T-shirt.  "But I want something on the front that can kind of jumps out at you."

Who are you and what have you done with my child? I wondered.  Where on earth did he get the idea of having any kind of fashon sense?  Fashion sense has to run in the family, doesn't it?  I mean, biologically there has to be a gene that allows people to blend clothes together to make people say, "Looks good!"  I don't have that, The Man Who Puts Up With Me doesn't have that, Oldest One only knows that you can wear almost anything with jeans.  Nope, this kid is either sleepwalking or has been dropped off by aliens.

I studied the book carefully.  Moments like this come so rarely at our house that I thought I better take it seriously.  He then launched into a quick series of fashion minded photo ops inside the book to try to explain what exactly he wanted to dress like for school next year.  The final photo was that of a big green slimy monster.

"So let me get this straight, "I said carefully.  "You want to look like that when we are done dressing you?"

"No, no!" he laughed.  "No, just to have something on that shirt so it pops out at you."

A big green slimy monster would definitely do that, I thought.  But then I realized where my son got his genetics: his uncle Mark.  Mark, my brother, the guy who dresses up like the Easter Bunny at the local mall, the guy who wears odd hats just to make people laugh.  He's the guy who invited me to a town dance once when his wife was out of town and I happened to be visiting, just to get people gossiping about who he was out with. That brother, the one that makes us howl with laughter and is a favorite around the town. 

I suppose I should look on the bright side.  We should have great fun now that we know whose genes Littlest Ones has raging throgh him. I'm grateful it's not the genetic makeup of the drunk or the gossipy one or the evil-mouthed one.  No, this young man will just always be trying to make people laugh, green monster slime and all. I can't wait.