paris, 1970

I was trying to shoo my beloved child from my side, where she was badgering spending quality time with me. I told her, "Go. Fly. Be free! You're a four year old. You should be having fun. Go! Frolic!"

She stepped back and playfully started arguing against my directions. "I want to be with you!" and "I have fun with you!" and "I don't want to go!" preceded the best one.

She danced a bit, then froze, and her shoulders drooped and she put on a pantomime frown.

She deadpanned, "Look. I'm unfrolicking."