Simplicity in recognition

So, nanny is sick and M came to work with me today. After doing a silly walk down to the train station, we bump into the next-door neighbor.

“Hi, Mr. Traub!” M says, “Daddy, it’s Mr. Traub.” Why, yes, it is.

Train comes, we find our seat and get comfy. Mr. Traub sits in another car. We read some Dr. Seuss (Oh say can you say? is evil first thing in the morning) and some Curious George. We name the things we can see out the window. We are thirsty. Very thirsty.

We get to the last stop and everyone queues up at the door. “Daddy, it’s Mr. Traub!” says M. I look up at the gentlemen standing next to me. No resemblance at all.

“No son, that’s not Mr. Traub.” M squints at the man.

“He’s wearing ear-things (i.e., earmuffs).” Yes, indeed he is. But, still not Mr. Traub.

Fast-forward to lunch. One of the firm’s partners is in line ahead of us. “Daddy, it’s Mr. Traub!” I glance over. Shorter, much more bald, no earmuffs…

“No son, that’s Rich, not Mr. Traub” I explain.

“He’s wearing glasses!” (So does Mr. Traub…) I start to wonder.

“M, daddy wears glasses too. Do I look Mr. Traub?” M looks at me with that look of sheer adult incompetence that only a child can give a parent.

“No, daddy. You’re daddy. I love you. I know you’re not Mr. Traub.” Rolls his eyes.

Okay. I’ll take that. Everyone else can be Mr. Traub for all I care…

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