Grabbing a couple of my paperback books, my two-year-old pages through them and engages in a lengthy monologue.
A: “This is about Mamiche’s copyright car. I’m just going to read this page and then go back to the cat page. Okay! Let’s go back to the cat page. This book is your book and it is about copyright. This is your book.”
me: “Thank you,” I say, accepting the book she hands me.
A: “Read it, and then it is my copyright. This is called Mamiche’s copyright. This is MY copyright, and this is YOUR copyright, and this is MY copyright. Here it is.” She shifts into a downward dog pose and holds the book below her. “I need my copyright. When I get my copyright I tell Mamala [ed.: that’s me], ‘I need my copyright now!’”
I am speechless.