Must be doin' something right

Yesterday morning (Saturday) Five Year Old and I were playing, as is our custom.

He was racing his motorcycle back and forth, and I was holding a Fisher Price tow truck that he told me was the motorcycle driver's friend. The tow truck driver figurine offered his help frequently to the motorcycle rider, but the rider could pretty much fix everything himself. So, my main role was to be present, and to follow direction. Fair enough, I can do that.

At some later point, the tow truck driver became the motorcycle rider's adopted son. (Go, Five Year Old!)

Even later, as I fought off severe drowsiness -- yes, I confess, on a Saturday morning, another hour or two in bed seems more appealing than WATCHING A MOTORCYCLE GO BACK AND FORTH! A LOT! -- Five Year Old decided to have a meeting of the crew.

I thought he meant pit crew, but as it turned out, he meant ALL the motorcycle riders who had been in the races, not just the one we could see.

So, we pulled together a group of three or four construction workers, who stood in admirably as the other racers. Then Five Year Old said, "My motorcycle rider is the CLERK."

[Cue sappy music; father beams proudly at his son.]