Tau has his own wallet, where he keeps any birthday cash that we haven’t deposited into his account.
Turning over a twenty-dollar bill he mutters, “There’s the White House.”
The parents’ eyebrows shoot up; their eyeballs bug out.
He turns it over again, frowning at the front. “I wonder which number president this one is?”
Good to know our childcare dollars are being well spent. Grin. I Googled Andrew Jackson after Tau went to bed that night to establish him as our seventh president.