The Object of My Affection

Everyone, meet Phil.

Philip Xavier is my only sibling's only child. (Which if you think about it, makes my Christmas lists very short each year.)

Phil is a nice kid, can say Mama and car, and choo-choo. He says hi and waves goodbye. (He just can't get the order right. He is known to begin conversations with "Bye!")

When asked how old he is he says "One." The child is two. But let's not judge him. We've all misstated our age at one point in our lives. He's just starting early.

Asked to identify the mammoth on the cover of one of his books, he replied, "el-phant", causing his mother to go into hysterics at the thought that her child may be a genius. With great excitement she opens the book and points to a lion.

"What's this, Phil?"

"El-phant"

Pointing to a monkey he replies "el-phant".

Well, one out of three aint so bad.

But what makes Philip extraordinary is not his mental prowess (or the lack thereof). It's his looks. The boy is handsome. And in my family where brains are a dime a dozen (his mother graduated Summa Cum Laude), and people have at least 5 letters after their names (B.S., J.D., Ll.M.), a good looking boy is revered. A good looking boy is god.

Just look at him for chrissakes.