"Mama," my eleven-year-old son said. "I need to invent something."
"What do you need to invent?" I asked.
"An aging machine."
At looked at the kid sideways. "Dude, why in the world would you want to invent that?"
"I want to hurry up and be eighteen. Then I can be a grown-up and nobody can tell me what to do."
"Okay, Bubba," I said. "But after you're done, can you invent an anti-aging machine? I'm kind of sick of this getting old thing!"