"Wet wasers go!" he would command and I would set the prism in motion so that the colors would dance about the room.
Time passed, as it does, and the little boy learned to pronounce his Ls and grew up; the prism's nylon string broke; and the prism itself got misplaced.
But on a recent birthday, my husband surprised me with a new prism which we have restored to its rightful place. And the lasers are spinning once more.