I've probably told this story before, but yesterday, as I was sorting through boxes of old photos, I came upon two that, I'm pretty sure, document said story.
Here's a slightly earlier photo to set the scene. Breakfast at my grandparents' house. It's around 1979 and the boys and I are visiting. On the trip down, I had talked with the boys about proper Tampa behavior--no peeing outside, particularly, and certainly, n0 using naughty words, even if they had heard their parents using them.
They seemed to understand.
All had gone well, and we were enjoying a quiet breakfast when darling little Justin looked over at me, and, out of the blue said, "We don't say sh*t."
Thankfully, my grandmother was deaf, and my grandfather was crunching cornflakes so neither heard him.
But Ethan and I did.
