“It just doesn’t stop,” the dad said to his daughter at the table. She was finishing Cheetos (“the big ones”) before starting on her cookie.

“It does stop,” the girl corrected.

“What? It is playing again right now.”

“No, when we were playing outside it stopped at 20,” she insisted.

He was perplexed, but never forgot that every moment is another chance at achieving communication.

“A-. The stereo is still playing. It doesn’t stop,” he circled back.

“No,” big breath, “It stops at 20.”

A glimmer of hope appeared.

“A-. Let’s try again. The stereo keeps playing. But the CD only has 20 songs. Is that what you’re trying to say? That there won’t be new songs forever and ever?”

“Yes. It will play only two times. Then it stops.”

“Okay. That makes sense. Now we are communicating. Doesn’t it feel good to communicate? To actually say things that have meaning?” he lectured in his particular fatherly way, leaning in close to her face for Old Testament emphasis.

“Yeah,” she said distractedly, bravely meeting his eyes, before adding, “I feel like I’m looking through one eye!”