Five-year-old Juan examines a small cut across my right knuckle.
"What is that?" he says worriedly, "Is it marker?"
I glance down at my hand, noticing the cut for the first time. I have no idea how I got it, but it's evidently recent because it's still oozing a few drops of blood. "No, I think it's a real cut," I say. "See, it's bleeding a little."
"Does it hurt?" says Juan.
"No," I reply, "It doesn't hurt."
"Press on it and see if it hurts," he insists.
I press on my knuckle. "No, it doesn't hurt," I say.
"Let me press on it," he says.
I hold out my hand. He presses vigorously on my knuckle. "Does that hurt?" he asks again.
"No, it doesn't hurt," I repeat.
"It must be marker," he says. His diagnosis is clearly final.
"It must be," I say. "Just a little marker."