Son or Slave

Spring is the time for lots of planting.  While hanging outside with mom and dad, Garrett decided he wanted to help out planting.  I dug the holes, and he prepared the plant and buried it.  He worked hard for about thirty minutes, and decided he was done.  When I reminded him we still had a few more flats to plant, this conversation followed:

Garrett: So what do you think I am, your slave?

Me: No, you're my son. 

Garrett: Are you saying that's the same thing?

Me: Yup, pretty much. 

I love this one!