Remember when I said I wondered if he was gifted?

You know those moments when you just smile, nod, and pray....

that the strange tendency will pass or that the quirk was not, in fact, inherited from you.......

or that this lapse in his otherwise clear brilliance will fade with a sudden recitation of the presidents (in reverse order)...

or maybe a jolt of algebraic genius (that you will have to only assume is completely correct)? Oh hell, I'd be fine with him reciting all the words to the "iCarly" theme song at this point.

You know those times Venn diagram that outlines parenting your child (yes, you must claim him -- damn the gap-teeth and tiny eyes and deep dimples for making it so!)...

shows a tiny but unmistaken sliver where "laugh" and "cringe" intersect...

and you think, is this hilarious or alarming, brilliant or bucket-headed (or -footed -- it counts)?

That was this afternoon, in parents' backyard, a thousand degrees outside, and this was the show (carnival or cirque?).

 And I admit (not just that I had a Diet Coke and rolled up my t-shirt slieeves -- craaaazzzaaaay!) that I did a little giggling, a bit of cringing, and then I thought,

hey, whatever freak show this kid's in, as long as he performs with this much pride...

I'll be his biggest, loudest, teared-up, kooky, blissed out fan.

Keep going (you know you want to):

• What if he's gifted? What if he's not?


• On Bieber and black belts


• This is who he wants me to think he thinks I am