Many years ago, I regularly taught swim lessons to a little boy named "Dimitri". Dimitri was very tall for his age, which, when he was four, made people think he was a retarded eight-year-old. He wasn't, he was just funny and enthusiastic. Example: Dimitri was sitting on my lap during a Penguin swim meet, when he began bumping his face into my arm, nose-first. When I asked what he was doing, he exclaimed, "I'm pecking you!"
Dimitri also had a severe speech impediment. Like young Sean Keane, Dimitri said "w" for "r," but he also did the comparatively rarer "t" for "k" substitution. Once I got used to it and accepted that my name was now Sean Teane, it was easy to deal with.
One day, Dimitri and I were working on Fweestyle. He had a powerful kick, but it was totally out of control, with bent knees and erratic feet. Basically, he was more motivated by creating a lot of splash than actually propelling himself forward. He wanted to switch to Battstrote, but I insisted he work on keeping his legs together. By the end of our lesson, Dimitri figured it out, and was incredibly proud. Still clutching his kickboard, he began yelling to his mom to come and see his progress.
"Mom, look at my tits! Look at my tits!"