"Dakota, how do you like being four?"

I asked my daughter as I was putting her to bed. She rested a pensive forefinger against the corner of her mouth as her eyes scanned the ceiling for an answer.

At least she exclaimed, "I know! You decide every day that you love it for being four years old!"

Although I understand that she simply didn't parse the question in the usual way, I was nevertheless unprepared for her to give such an abstract answer.

I still have memories of my own fourth birthday. It was the first summer that we were into the new house and my parents invited all their friends for a party on the patio. I got so many presents I was completely disoriented. It was one of the few times that we opened up only the top half of our double-dutch doors. What a strange thing to remember!

I wonder what Dakota will remember. Somehow, I think that she will remember Jason.