"So Ethan, what do you want to study in college?" I asked this morning. He's three now, and the time has come to start preparing for his future. If I don't put the bug in his ear now about full-scholarship Ivy League, I might as well forget about it.
"Um..." he said.
"Do you want to be a doctor? Or an astronaut?" Noah asked.
"Um...a robot," Ethan said, with decision in his voice.
"Robotics! That's a good field," replied Noah. "You could build the first Cylon. I mean, somebody has to do it."
"And there's a airplane and it's got poop, and it flies by the robot factory," said Ethan.
"There's an airplane full of poop?" I asked incredulously, but Noah's curiosity lay elsewhere.
"What's inside the robot factory?"
"They take the robots and they put it on theyselfs," Ethan explained.
"So you think that robots are people wearing robot suits?" Noah asked.
"Yep," said Ethan, with a conclusive flick of his finger. "I'm gonna be a policeman tonight and kill all the bad robots."
"That's good. You should kill bad robots whenever possible, basically," Noah concurred. Then he and Ethan went off to play cowboys.
Essentially, what I get from that conversation is we're talking either Harvard or Brown. But I'd be just as happy with Penn.