One of my kids, L, who just turned six, is a bit precocious (he can read at, I estimate, at least a second-grade level), but fully weird. He's always muttering bizarre things to himself, or coming up to me and saying, "I now have eighty-six gold medals for racing" and then running off at top speed. He's very much like Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes; he's in his own little world, and it seems that other people just serve as set pieces for his elaborate fantasies.
He's in some ways a bit like me; Miss Busty called him my "Mini-Me" just because of that tendency of his to suddenly spout off-the-wall non sequiturs.
Today he said to me, apropos of nothing, as usual, "I have a magic marker in my head, and it writes down everything I say and hear."
Man, I really would love to know where he'll be in twenty years. A misunderstood genius novelist? A well-adjusted, satisfied soul? A loner who concocts elaborate plans of revenge and mayhem? As to that latter, there but for the grace of God go I, Mini-Me!