Two of my of my dearest friends have a son named Bryant, and he makes me feel very middle-aged. That is because I distinctly remember his mom picking him up (in swaddling clothes) and putting him in a stroller. Well, Bryant has just graduated from high school, and the last time they measured him, he'd reached six foot seven. Having had some experience sampling his mom's cooking, I won't be at all surprised if he clears seven feet! (If I don't watch it, the next time I see him, he's likely to bounce me on his knee. :) I called him on his 18th birthday a while back, and asked him if he was getting much 'How's the weather up there?'
He replied, 'Yeah, as a matter of fact...'
So, eager to maintain my standing as World's Coolest Honorary Uncle, I said, "OK, here's what you do: no matter how tempted you may be, do not spit on them and say, 'it's raining'. No. Not good. Instead, just smile and say, 'Fine! How are soil conditions, shorty?' "