“Where are the pretty lights, Daddy?”
‘They are still there, sweetheart, we just can’t see them.’
We are in the car. She sits behind me as I drive.
“Why can’t we see them, Daddy?”
‘Because we only have them on at night.’
“Why, Daddy?”
‘Because it needs to be dark so we can see the lights’
“Why?”
And I realised I’d been snared. Two and a half years old and finally, her rampant curiosity has discovered the inexhaustible power of ‘Why?’
Now, I’m a Good Parent. At least I try. I don’t want to be dismissive. I don’t want to be restricting. I don’t want to be discouraging.
So I answer.
Each
Successive
Round
Of
Whys.
She is a sponge.
I explain about day and night.
I give details of human vision.
I describe how the eye works.
I discuss at some length the properties of light.
I start to unpick the complexities of particle/ wave duality theory.
I hear a stifled laugh from behind me. She has caught me. She is giggling.
‘Silly Daddy.’ She chuckles.
She is not a sponge. She is a sod. A fertile, blooming sod.
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