My son at the time was 4-5 years old and I took him to the beach. This was a time when those wrist leashes were fashionable to keep them from committing suicide by running out into traffic.
My son hated his. But his mother did not tell me this. So we get there. I put the leash on him after taking him out of the chair and dip back into the car to grab the beach toys.
Out of the corner of my eye I see him lay down on the hot asphalt. “Hmm, this is what he does to his mother,” I thought, knowing his mother at this point would scream at him to get up.
I calmly retrieved the items from the car and turned towards the beach looking out. Never once looking down at him.
A minute later I felt his little hand in mine. I turned and asked, “Hot down there isn’t it?” He nodded. He never tried that crap again with dad.