
So the kids' new favorite show is Macgyver. We have season 1 and they're up to disk 5. I'm not terribly surprised, having raised them thus far on a steady diet of Mythbusters. (as well as having a dad who was planning on growing up to be Angus Macgyver.)
Anyhow.
The cherry tree is in bloom. (cherry tree?!! What's up with that? Stick with me here.) I'm out fixing the irrigation (still), and the 5 year old wanders by with a tupperware dish.
Dad: "Watcha doin?"
5yo: "I'm going to pick cherries, dad."
Ahh, I think. What an idyllic boyhood activity. Wholesome. Harmless.
(can't you just *see* the butterflys fluttering by?)
5yo: "We're going to make cherry bombs."
[record scratch]
Dad: "Oh? Umm...you know that cherry bombs aren't made with cherries. Cherries don't explode, you see."
5yo: [completely serious] "They do if you put black powder in them."
THAT'S my boy!!**
**No, I

