"YaYa, you have a lot of spots and you're hairy," said six-year old Conner.
I sighed. I always worry when Conner looks my way. He's that kid in the family; you the know the one. The one that sees every wart, pimple, and flaw, and then has to comment.
When he was four-years old he told his Sunday School teacher, "Sista 'Tassidy, you have big boobies."
Sister Cassidy, a good friend of mine, later told me that she was so shocked that all she could think of to say was, "Why, thank you Conner."
Conner has an excellent eye. When he looks he sees. As a humor writer, I try to keep his example in mind. The world is a funny conglomeration of observable incongruities, inconsistencies, hypocrisies, and hairy spots. All you have to do is look to see, like Conner.
Just don't point, when you notice that the lady has a mustache. That was the instruction that Conner's dad gave him, "It's not nice to point and say that a lady has a mustache."
Conner replied, "I wasn't pointing."
