Many years ago, when Theodore, my extremely bright oldest boy, was four, he was going to nursery school. They made scrambled eggs at nursery school. That I think was Friday.

On Saturday morning my Beautiful Wife and I were wakened by Teddy: "Daddy, I made breakfast." "What did you make, cereal?" "I made scrambled eggs." "Oh."

We got up right away. He had done it. Now you understand that he hadn't done anything like setting the table, or pouring juice (whadja expect, at four years old?), and the eggs were WAY undercooked. The kitchen, while a mess, was not a disaster zone. We set the table, and dutifully ate his runny, runny scrambled eggs, pointing out that they needed to be cooked more. Little did we know.

On Sunday morning: "Daddy, I made breakfast." "You did? What?" "Scrambled eggs."

Again, no table setting. This time the eggs were WAY overcooked. We set the table and dutifully ate the egg-leather, pointing out that this time he'd overcooked them.

On Monday morning we were not surprised to find that Teddy had again scrambled eggs (no table setting, and somewhat of a mess). They were perfect (although of course cold by the time we got to eat them)! And whenever thereafter he scrambled eggs they were JUST right. Like I say, a bright kid. At four! He was some kid.

I won't go into the down side of that intelligence and independence. Too long and too painful.

Dave Oesterreich