Am I Evil?

So do you ever come home from a long day, prop your feet up, and ponder over a mug of hot cocoa: Am I evil? I mean, I don't do that or anything, but there's this small element of my character of which I often question.

Let me start over. Every time I'm feeling blue, I think of a particular memory to cheer myself up. The following is that memory:

Once upon a time a couple years ago, I was walking down a tourist-crowded street in Monterrey. The sun was out, couples were laughing, children were playing. Coming toward me about 20 feet ahead were a father and son holding hands. I mean it was really cute. They both had matching aquarium hats and the little boy only came up to his father's knee so he was doing that endearing toddler run/walk to keep up with the stride of his fore bearer, who was engaged in an animated conversation with two other adults. All of a sudden - BLAM! His little over-sized head smacked right into a parking permit dispenser. I swear I saw his eyes cross, and his dome rolled around his neck like a basketball swirling into the net. Worst of all, his father didn't even notice - just continued chumming it up with the rest of the party, never breaking stride. For a few steps, the poor kid sort of half-bounced, half-dragged his pathetic little body down the street before he could straighten out. By the time we passed one another, he seemed fine - no tears, no bump, no loss of consciousness - save a VERY dazed expression on his rosy-cheeked face.

Cracks me the fuck up. Sure, maybe it took the little guy a bit longer to learn his basic shapes than the rest of his pre-school class and maybe that right eye will always kind of have a lazy quality, but kids are durable and this kid's head - I mean, he looked like a walking lollipop. So there. Maybe I am evil. But at least it makes me laugh.