I'm lousy with kids

Here's the conversation I had a few hours ago when I went into the break room to find that there was a kid in there, just sitting by himself, who couldn't have been older than ten. I was just getting some water when he piped up.

“Do you know who my mom is?”
“Who is your mom?”
“Guess who my mom is.”
“Uh, I don’t know. Who?”
“Guess!”
“I’m bad at guessing games.”
“It starts with a ‘C’.”
“Is it… Crystal?”
“How did you know that?”
(I'm not a genius, I assure you. It's just that the kid was black, and there’s only two black women that I know of who work here, and I know Crystal has kids, and I banked on the kid not being adopted. I’m the World’s Greatest Detective.)
"It was a lucky guess."
“I bet I know what PSI stands for.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
“Psychological Services Inc.”
“Nice one. What are you eating?”
“I’m not EATING!”
(He was eating hot chocolate with a spoon.)
“Well, I’ve gotta get back to work.”
“Guess what? My foot is on the chair.”
“So it is.”

Annnnnd away I went. I'm going to be a hell of a dad someday, I can tell. Or perhaps I'll just be the subject of a film in which I am forced to adopt three adorable moppets who melt my ice-cold heart. You never know.