#5 has always had a deep-seated need to be right. He’s fond of telling you why you’re wrong- about anything, really, and he’s only eight. I can’t wait to see what happens when he’s a teenager. Although I’m told boys stop talking when they’re teens.

I’ll believe that when I see it.

I’m taking CC to the train this morning and we pass a road sign near our house, the black and yellow ones that show a curve ahead.

#5: That sign is new.

CC: The one that says No Parking Any Time?

#5: No the one with the arrow.

Me: Hey look at that. The one that was there before was all dinked up, but that one is shiny.

#5: No, it’s new.

Me: Shiny new. Did they replace it?

#5: No, it’s a new sign.

Me: New and improved, huh?

#5: No.

Me: But it’s new and shiny, so it’s new and improved, like in a commercial, right?

#5: No.

Me: Isn’t it better than the old one?

#5: Yes.

Me: Doesn’t that make it improved?

#5: No, it’s new. It’s a new sign.

Me: Let me give you a piece of advice, buddy. Every once in a while, let a woman be right. It will make your life so much easier.

#5: No.

CC: Let me ask you this: would you rather be right, or be happy?

#5: Um. . . What’s the difference?

How about you: Right, or Happy? Or are they the same for you, too?