Hearing Voices

This afternoon, I found Cortlen crying on the sofa.

"What's up?" I asked as I plopped down next to him. While I waited for his reply, I began flipping through a stack of mail.

"I'm hearing voices," he told me.

I put down the mail.

"What kind of voices?" I asked.

"Bad ones."

"What do they say?" I wanted to know.

"They tell me to do something that I don't want to do," he answered.

"Like what?" I prodded. By this point, I was quite concerned.

"They tell me to say the word 'poopie' really loud." He covered his mouth to stifle a giggle.

"All right," I said, standing up. At the same time, my son collapsed on the floor in a fit of hysterics.

"Way to stay strong," I commended, as a symphony of fart sounds emanated from his armpit.

Six-year-old boys rock.