We had a lovely little backyard garden just before my son turned three. Everyday we’d tend it, eagerly checking the progress of the flowers, tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, and one lone watermelon that had somehow volunteered. We weeded, watered, and discussed every day when our watermelon would be ready. John was most eager of all, racing ahead of me with his little hoe. Finally, after days of careful judgment, I told him it would be ready tomorrow. He went flying into the backyard ahead of me the next morning straight to our fine watermelon, attacked it, and bashed it to bits before I could stop him. Indeed, I’d never gone into the specifics of what the melon would be ready for. Maybe, John thought it would be ready for battle. At any rate, that melon was vanquished by a three-year-old with his trusty shovel. It never disturbed us again.