One of my favorite songs has the catch phrase "sign, sign, everywhere a sign; blocking out the scenery breaking my mind." And with the recent turmoil surrounding the city of Pittsburgh concerning a rather large sign from Lamar Advertising, the song is relevant.

The Ola family is living through our own little sign issue in Mars.

My son has recently learned how to read, interpret and act upon every sign he comes across. And while I'm ecstatic with his grasp of the subject and enthusiasm toward reading, it's beginning to take a toll, both mentally and monetarily.

Imagine heading up to your bedroom and seeing a handwritten sign on your door saying "STOP. NO SMOKING."

For the record, I've never smoked. But I also don't always obey every sign either.

I entered the room to find my son sitting on my bed.

"You didn't knock, Dad. And NO SMOKING."

"It's my room buddy," I said, admiring his next sign, a clearly written "105" created in blood red marker that was dripping onto his fingers.

"Where's that going?" I asked.

"You'll see," he responded and put the equivalent of 46 yards of masking tape on his next sign. It went in the middle of his door.

My daughter's room already had Room 109 on it for some unknown reason.

"Is that your room number at school?" It's a natural question — one a rationally thinking 38-year-old might ask.

"No."

Apparently there's no need to elaborate and I should understand why he's selected "105" for his room and "109" for his sister, another innocent victim.

"Did ya see your garage Dad?"

If he's referring to the sign that prevented me from parking in front of the garage, then yes, I saw the red lettering from the road.

"So buddy, why all of the signs?" It's perplexing to me that he'd be so engrossed by something so basic.

"Cuz they tell us what to do. And I like telling people what to do, but you told me I couldn't boss people around; especially Mia." Ah, the logic of a 7-year-old!

Rather than attempt to explain to him that placing room numbers on doors is not really bossing anyone around, I watched him plaster the "109" sign on Mia's door and then head back to the (literal) drawing board.

"This one's for Papa," he blurted out. "He's got expensive money." This is 7-year-old talk for "He's got money in the bank."

"PAY," instructed the next sign, which Alex proceeded to hang on a nearby tree next to where Papa parks. Alex's bike was already there with an "Alex Bike" signed exclaiming who the rightful owner of the blue 26-inch bike was. Apparently we're now operating a parking lot and he's the attendant.

My wife pulled in a few minutes later and naturally, she was curious about the 412 pieces of 8-by-11 paper taped to doors, pools, swings, tables and chairs, plates and such.

"What's this all about?" she questioned, although she recognized Alex's work immediately.

"Don't ask, but please don't park there. It's expensive. Pull next to my car where it's free."

"I can't. There's a NO PARKING sign there."

We had been duped by a 7-year-old, sign-making capitalist. And I couldn't be prouder. It was a sign that he was beginning to think logically to solve problems. This is certainly a sign of things to come.

Christian Ola, a community columnist for the Butler Eagle, resides in Mars with his wife, son and daughter and can be reached at christianola@aol.com.