The disturbing side effect is that, just when he's trying to be courteous and ask for help, he constructs imperious and controlling sentences. He'd like me to help him get his shoes on, so he hands me his sandals and declares, "I will put your shoes on for you." In one of the oddest revelations of how powerful he thinks I am, he said when he wanted a cardinal to fly through the backyard, "I will show you a red bird right now. That can be arranged." It would be a cool conjuring trick, but, um, no.
All that's missing is Alec Guinness's little hand-waving motion and a declaration about which droids I'm looking for.
Sometimes his utterances are uncannily normal and adult-sounding. Friday night we stopped in a New Jersey Turnpike rest area at 10pm, mostly because Gareth was having trouble falling asleep in the car. It was way past his bedtime, he was barefoot and in his pajamas, and we were, after all, in a Turnpike rest area, which can be a pretty surreal environment if you're not desensitized to it. Gareth looked around and said, "Well, this is kind of weird." Yes, love, and you just made it weirder.