Recently John kicked me in the shin, for no apparent reason. "No, John, no kicking mama. No kicking anyone -- we don't kick people."
A day or two later, John was frustrated about something and started kicking the air near my legs. Again: "No, John, we don't kick people. We kick balls. We don't kick people."
John, in a sweet voice: "I kick people."
Later, in his booster seat: "Kick. Kick. I kick people."
Something about having your own children -- I find all of this unbelievably cute. (But no more classic yet violent Mickey Mouse cartoons for John.)