taking matters into his own hands

I woke up on Saturday to find Punk in the kitchen, his math book in his hand. "Here," he says, "I woke up this morning and finished second grade."

Saturday is a holy day in the land of Punk - a day for cartoons and legos, and hammocks and wearing your jammies until you spill your lunch on them. I must be dreaming. Even on our best day, Punk would never, voluntarily crack open his math book.

"I wanted to be done," he says, "I mean - done with the boring stuff, I still want to study in the summer, but just good stuff like science and reading and history."

I'm still just staring at him.

"You better check it," he says, "If it's wrong, I'll probably have to do it over."

It's not wrong - every single problem is right.

I tell him he got an A+.

A shout comes from his bedroom, "Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty I'm free at last!"
Now that sounds like my kid.