I would never have predicted some of the questions I’ve fielded from the girls.
And the way they’ve educated the professed grownups who read this blog.
In the mind of expecting the unexpected, I got a question from an 8-year-old daughter of mine who shall remain nameless that actually turned my stomach and made me peek over my shoulder as I researched it at work.
It had nothing to do with Snooky, feminine hygiene or the Oakland Raiders.
No offense. You just wouldn’t understand, the kids and I. Dad, and his cubs. While we’re in that place, you can catch up on Pinterest, or do some crafts. Just ignore the pillows flying and, oh yeah, the noise.
It’ll sound like a zoo meets a train station meets an Iron Maiden concert, but it’s all smoke. No mirrors.
Imagination rules. Dad morphs into Crocodile Hunter. Or the Big Mean Bear, from Over the Hedge. Even Dr. Sheeka-laka-WOO-hoo, the friendly, bumbling dentist.
They’re always asking. Inquiring. You know, wondering.
My oldest now has an i-Pod, so perhaps her days of inquiry have ended when it comes to dad. Why ask D-A-D when you can just type in G-O-O-G-L-E?
I take note, and each time I do get the privilege of being asked to explain something in our wonderful and complex universe, I’ll do what any (blogging) father would do – I’ll say, “good question, honey. Let me research it, and I’ll blog about it. I’ll send you a link.”