In Which Sasha, Unknowingly, Confronts Her Genetic Destiny

Oh, the joys of riding the F train home with my daughter, Sasha! In a not-so-crowded subway car, she points at my eyes: “Daddy’s eyes!” she says.

“Where’s Sasha’s eyes?”

She points.

“Where’s Sasha’s nose?”

She points. Then she points at my nose.

“Daddy’s nose.”

Cute.

“Daddy’s big nose!”

Uh, cute?

“Daddy’s BIG NOSE!” she yells, laughing. “Daddy’s BIG NOSE!”

Thanks, kid. You know what? I hate to tell you, Sasha, but that’s going to be your nose, too, one of these days. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.