THERE'S A CRY CAUGHT IN MY THROAT

"Mama, a cry is caught in my throat," he says to me on the way home from school yesterday.

"A cry?" I ask him.

"Yes, Mama. A C-C-C-CR-RRR-RY-YYYY!" he bellows, apparently thinking I was just trying to get him to enunciate a little better.

"Alright, son, I hear you. Do you know why there's a cry caught in your throat?"

"No."

"How do you know it's there?"

"Because if you open my mouth and look down my throat, you will see the tears," he explains.

"Well, how do we get the cry out of your throat, baby?"

"With the wind," he says very matter of factly.

"Oh, okay. And will the wind just dry up the tears?"

"No, the cry is the tears' mama, so you have to ask her," he clarifies.

"But I'm your Mama, and I don't think I like the idea of a cry stuck in your throat."

"Okay, Mama, it's gone."