Here is a faithful transcript of a conversation overheard yesterday on the back patio at my house. My oldest, 7 1/2 will be referred to as #1; my middle child, 4 1/2, will be referred to as #2.
#1: Welcome to our ship, new pirate. What is your name?
#2: Um . . . . Argy Mate.
#1: Argy Mate?
Mom (from inside): Yeah! Like ARRGGHH-y Mate.
#1: Oh, right. Welcome, Argy Mate. We are delighted to have you as one of our new pirates. Tell us about yourself.
#2: (Rambled on at some length about a boating accident that killed nearly his entire crew.) Some of us found a life raft and we survived.
#1: What about your first mate?
#1: What about your second mate?
#1: What about the cookers?
#2: The cookers are dead too.
#1: That's terrible. (Gives #2 a hug.)
#2: Yeah, it's pretty terrible all right.
#1: Wait! What is that on the horizon!?! It's another small boat! It's your cookers! They survived!
#2: My. Cookers. Survived!?!
#1: Yes! Oh, I'm so happy for you!!! (More hugging.)
I don't think my little pirates are going to be considered the Terrors of the Seven Seas any time soon: they may not even be considered the Terrors of the Bathtub. But aren't their manners impeccable? I'm happy to report that at some point later in the afternoon there were actually some bad guys to best, and they acted like proper little wild boys then. Yelling, screaming, brandishing weapons, making a skull and crossbones flag, threats, etc.