Waxing non-political for a bit I have to recount an adorable tale.

Yesterday the family celebrated my nephew’s 2nd birthday. Grandma rolled out the requisite cake replete with two candles to the lucky boy. In addition to twin pillars of fire, the cake had one of those realistic pictures of a firetruck on it, the irony of which was lost on the little boy. Nonetheless, this was perfect as this particular little boy is positively obsessed with trucks of any kind. He made a number of dips into the cake with a probing finger and gleefully licked off the icing.

Then his mom starting cutting up the cake and passing pieces around the table until they found a hungry face. He watched, fascinated, as the pieces were removed. As the last plate arrived under a poised fork, he turns to his mom, points to the cake, and says, “Back together. Put truck back together.”

Mom says, “Oh honey, this truck doesn’t go back together.” He scans the table, looking at the rest of us joyfully stuffing our faces with bits of his firetruck. He looks back at the cake and eyes up the mutilated vehicle. The horror dawns on his face and the tears begin to roll. He was inconsolable for several minutes during which most of us were trying desperately not to laugh. Then Grandma saves the day by telling him there were presents.

“Presents? I got presents! Go get boxes!” And down he goes from the table, frosting still on his chin, tears drying on a smiling face. Suddenly we couldn’t eat his firetruck fast enough.

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