Eagle Eyes


“Yes, A-, that’s your nose,” I responded, unsure what prompted this resumption of the body parts game.


“Yes. You’re right. Good job. That’s your nose,” I answered loquaciously, aiming for victory.

She took off running towards the open door.

“Hey!-” I started, futilely. “Why do they always need to go where they’re not allowed?”

She came back with a tissue at her nose and as I met her, I saw the box of tissue all the way in the far corner of our bedroom, on the nightstand.

I shook my head.

“H-!” I called to my older daughter. “You’re not gonna believe what A- just did. She saw the tissue box all the way from across the room and that’s why she started saying, ‘Nose? Nose?’ Ha. This kid has eagle eyes-”

“Watch out, A-!”

Before I could finish a father’s proud, ocular appellation, certain death in the form of unkempt toddler toys, almost met our far-sighted easy-breather.


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