“My great-grandma gave me this money,” said my three-year-old, happily clutching a $20 bill he’d gotten as a present.

“That’s right,” I said. “How did you know that?”

Pointing to Andrew Jackson’s face in the middle, he said, “Because her picture is on it.”

The first time my son was on a bike with training wheels, I shouted, "Step back on the pedals and the bike will brake!"

He nodded but still rode straight into a bush.

"Why didn’t you push back on the pedals?" I asked, helping him up.

"You said if I did, the bike would break."

It was the first day of basketball practice at Wingate high school in Brooklyn, N.Y. Coach Jack Kaminer handed a ball to each player.

"Fellas," he said, "I want you to practice shooting from the spots you might expect to be in during the game."

The No. 12 sub immediately sat down at the end of the bench and began launching the ball toward the basket.

The village blacksmith hired an enthusiastic new apprentice willing to work long, hard hours.

He instructed the boy, “When I take the shoe out of the fire, I’ll lay it on the anvil. When I nod my head, you hit it with the hammer.”

The apprentice did exactly as he was told, and now he’s the new village blacksmith.