From Daddy: Yesterday morning on the way to school he told me that he wanted to be a racecar driver. I asked, “Don’t you want to be a golfer?”
Not anymore, he said. “I want to sing my songs–I know what song I want to sing–then be a race car driver, then go to outer space, and sell pretzels on the moon!”
“What song do you want to sing?”
“I’m not telling!” he sang.
By the way, he’s told me before that he wanted to sell pretzels on the moon when he grows up. I told him that no one was on the moon to whom to sell pretzels. He believes that there will be a clientele by the time he’s on the moon.