It is standard for New Yorkers to walk aggressively, ignoring their sidewalk neighbors.
It is standard for birds to fly South in flocks.
It is standard to eat bread with butter.
It is not standard to experience a hailstorm in the summer.
It is not standard to eat applesauce on top of yogurt.
It is not standard for children to hate television.
One time my Mom read me a book about a boy that wished to become a butterfly—even though the standard life span of a butterfly was so short.
I associate the meaning of the word “standard” with butterflies.