How My Son Learned to Whistle

My son tried to whistle for most of second grade. He practiced at breakfast, in the bath, in the back seat of the car, producing nothing but air and spit.

The whole family got involved. His older sister demonstrated. His grandpa gave a lecture on lip shape. The dog left the room every time.

Then one Saturday in the grocery store, in the cereal aisle, out of nowhere, a perfect, clear note came out. He froze. He looked at me with his eyes huge. He did it again.

He whistled through the entire store. He whistled at the cashier, who whistled back. He whistled all the way home and through dinner and, apparently, in his sleep.

It's been three months. He has not stopped whistling. I have never been so happy to be mildly annoyed.