My life

(Vincent Ware is taking a break. His son, Andrew, wrote this week's column.)

My name is Andrew and I'm two years old. During the past couple of months, I have become quite the talker. Everyone thinks a little guy like me talking is a wonderful thing. Everyone enjoys hearing me talk except my siblings. My six-year old brother and four-year-old sister hate that I can

Before I became "the great communicator," I used to get blamed for everything. If there was a mess on the floor, my siblings would tell Mom or Dad that I did it. I would try to tell the truth, but the only thing that would come out was, "jfbfh effdhjlefw eqfehefe."

That isn’t the case anymore. If Dad wants to know how the toys from the playroom got to the living room floor, then I will gladly say, “Rachel did it!”

I say this not only because it is true, but also because it is music to my ears. My brother and sister call me a tattletale, but I prefer to think of myself as an honest boy.

I'm very concerned with truth and justice. You would be as well if you spent the better part of your life being a scapegoat for the misdeeds of others.

Earlier today, my sister hit me because I snatched one of her favorite dolls out of her hands. I wanted to rip the head off the doll, but she didn't want me to do that. We got into a tugging match and she smacked my hand. It hurt so much that I let go of the doll and began crying as ran to Dad.

I cried as loud as I could and made sure the biggest crocodile tears in the world were in my eyes. I grabbed Dad's leg and said, "Rachel hit

"She hit you?"

"Rachel hit me," I said a little louder. No matter what I say to the man, he repeats it. I think he’s a little hard of hearing,

Anyway, Dad called Rachel into the room and asked her to tell him what happened. She lowered her head and stuck out her lip. She knew she was going to get a time-out. Did I feel sorry for her?

Not in the least.

She had it coming. I know you're thinking I should have told Dad about what I did, but that's not part of my job description. Besides, this is payback time, baby! Both my siblings are getting what they deserve.

My six-year-old brother has suddenly become very accident-prone. He is perhaps the most accident-prone boy in the world. Only a few short months ago, he could do no wrong. Then again that is because he used to blame me for anything and everything that came up broken.

Now as soon as my brother breaks something, I run and tell Dad. I'll grab Dad by the hand and lead him to the place where my brother has hidden the evidence of his crime. "Who did this?"

"Max broke it."

"How?"

"Like this," I'll say as I demonstrate how Max broke the item. Dad likes having me around, but he doesn't always show his appreciation like he should.

Take for instance the time I ripped the pages out of a book. I didn't want to rip pages out of a book, but I'm a toddler and we can't always control ourselves. Anyway, my old man saw the mess and freaked. He walked up to me and asked, "Who tore the pages out of the book?" "Rachel did it," I said.

"I think you did it, Andrew," Dad said.

"Rachel did it," I said.

"You did it," he said.

I couldn't believe the nerve of the guy. I kept fingering Rachel for the crime, but Dad wouldn't let her take the rap. He said Rachel was away with Mom and couldn't have torn the pages out the book.

Dad gave me a time-out. I didn't like it one bit.

I'm still upset about it. In fact, I am so upset that I'm plotting ways to make Dad pay. My father better watch his back. When he least expects it, I will strike.

My siblings and I may answer to Dad, but I realize that Dad answers to Mom. The next time he makes a top-secret visit to Dunkin' Donuts, I may just have to let it slip to Mom.

After all, it's like Dad always says, "The truth will set you free."