A couple of weeks ago at the dinner table, seven-year-old Tess was talking about Dr. Steele, her beloved eye doctor. Dr. Steele is one of the world's leading pediatric ophthalmic surgeons; he's done Tess's two surgeries, and she has seen him regularly since she was about two years old. He's handsome, kind, and has a fabulously high-tech Manhattan office.
Our twice-yearly visits to him usually follow this agenda: a) a movie in the car (we only use the DVD player on trips of an hour or longer); b) Tess's choice of candy from the newsstand down the street from the office; c) seeing the good doctor himself; d) getting a beany baby-like toy from his special drawer as a souvenir; e) lunch at Dallas BBQ across the street afterward; and f) a quick trip to the American Museum of Natural History on the way home. Tess loves everything about Dr. Steele (and our elaborate visiting ritual); she plans to become an eye doctor precisely so that she can join his practice in about twenty years.
Anyway, Tess was chattering about her next visit to Dr. Steele, how glad she is that he is her doctor, and how she couldn't wait to see him again, etc.
Four-year-old Daniel, clearly not wanting to be outdone, said, "I have a doctor, too."
We all looked at him; this was news to the entire family.
Daniel smiled and declared with perfect confidence, "His name is Dr. Seuss."