Because he is seven.
And because he has seen someone else do it. A lot of someone else’s.
And because he gets a rise out of his sister every time–every single time–he doesn’t miss an opportunity to sprout a set of bunny ears, like tiny antennae, behind the nearest head.
It’s just, he’s never heard of bunny ears. Never heard someone snicker, “I just did bunny ears on you!”
And so after the picture snaps, he prances around with his fingers in vee formation, ha-hawing that he just “did the two.”
“I did THE TWO on you, he says.”
Only nobody gets it. And we crinkle our foreheads, and we look at each other and we mumble, “The TWO?”
At which time our boy looks at his own fingers still in a vee before holding them up for us to see, and says again, “The Two.”
And in that moment what may have been the peace sign for Richard Nixon and what may still be bunny ears for the rest of the world has clearly become something else for us.