Perhaps it is the rocket fuel that runs through his veins or the heavy metal revving of his own internal engine that has created, in my teenage son, an ingenious ability to identify the exact make, model and year of every glittery, gleaming sports car we happen to encounter on our daily travels.
What is it about the brains of boys that inhibit them from remembering things like math facts or spelling words but seems to allow them easy access to an endless amount of useless sports car statistics?
"Look Mom, a 2013 Lamborghini Veneno!" Weston shouts as if Tom Brady was magically sprung from Gillette Stadium and tumbled onto our windshield.
Several times, I have had to slam on my brakes, certain from Weston's exuberant tone, that I have just run over some poor, unsuspecting pedestrian.
"Weston, can you tune it down a notch? I almost sent us all through the windshield." I shout.
"Sorry, Mom," he says, craning his neck to get a lingering, last look at the flaming red roadster.
"Aww man......" he says in a tone of adoring adolescent admiration, "I would love to drive that."
In fact lately, Weston has become somewhat of an expert on fast cars with names that end with the letter "i"
I am sad to report that the sturdy, yellow toy trucks and shiny matchbox minis that once lined our living room floor are gone, replaced now with a newer and faster breed of colorful, sleek-bodied hot rod.
Yes, those familiar toy truck makers we have grown to love over the years, like Tonka, Bruder and Hess have seemingly transformed overnight into the sexy, multi-syllable foreign car manufacturers of Bugatti, Maserati and Ferrari. Not to mention, his personal favorite, the Lamborghini.
I suppose, in the world of boys, it is the natural progression of things
It starts with Matchbox, progresses to Tonka, transforms into Maserati until eventually they are distracted by other things with features more alluring than alloy wheels and fuel injected carburetors.
Other things that are also shiny and red.