"Dad, stop singing. You're driving me crazy."
"You know, Isaac," I replied. "One day you'll miss me singing." (God, I sound like my mother -- in a good way.)
"I said, one day I may not feel like singing anymore. Maybe I will be too old, or unhappy, or who
knows. You'll miss days like this when I walked around singing."
He thinks about it really hard and says,
"OK. Sing, dad."
He walked around the other side of a tree and didn't see me sipping my ice coffee.
"Dad! Why aren't you singing?"