"Rafting rocks!"

This was said with such conviction I had to take a second glance at whose mouth spoke those words. It was my cherubic nephew from Dallas, Tyler, who had just emerged from the Skagit River sopping wet and beaming with satisfaction.

Without a doubt Tyler was my most satisfied customer of the summer. Four years old, the dimensions of a fire hydrant sporting a cowlick more pronounced than Dennis the Menace’s. He spoke with such exuberance I had to do a double-take to make sure I wasn’t the victim of a four-year old’s sarcasm.

Is it possible for a four-year old to be sarcastic, I wondered?

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