My four-soon-to-be-five-year-old granddaughter is talking to me as we travel to the neighborhood toy store.
We have dreamed up this field trip so she can point out items she likes. Our expedition is not dissimilar to what engaged couples do when they show up at Target or Macy's to select items for their wedding gift registries. Mae and I will walk through the toy store, and she'll show me what she likes. I’ll make mental notes for a return trip to the store—solo. That way, when her birthday comes in five days, she'll be surprised about my gift because she won't know which item I'm going to select.
Her voice continues from the backseat of the car. “It’s about my birthday. You need to know something . . . I don’t mind if you give me more than one present.”
“Really? You mean it would be OK if I bought you two or three—or even six gifts?”
“Even twenty would be OK. I like a lot of presents. Just so you know.”
“Ah, Mae,” I said aloud. “Here is yet another thing we have in common. I also am willing to accept any number of gifts . . . at any time.”
“Me, too. Even a hundred.”
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