I never knew there was so much I didn't know

"Daddy... hey Daddy."  

He says it often as we walk along as if to get my attention, even though it is just us two.  

"Yes, buddy?"

"Daddy... um, Daddy.  If we ever move can we get a pool with a house?"

He and his sister started swim lessons last month.  And he's probably starting to realize that hopping into some body of water is the only way you can survive outside in these sweltering, six-month-long Alabama summers.

"I think that would be awesome, buddy."

That reminds me of a joke.  How can you tell the difference between a pond and a lake?

If livestock defecates in it, it's a pond.

This is the fourth day in a row he's come along on my evening walk.  My fifteen-minute miles have turned into twenty.  For every two steps I take, he takes three or four, struggling at times to keep up.

"Daddy, hey Daddy.  Why doesn't Mama want to get a third baby?"

"I'm not sure, boog."

"Well, Daddy.  You know how Kristen's mom has three and Sadie's mom has three, right?  All our friends have three."

"I suppose that's true."

"Yeah, so we should, too."

Who can argue with that logic?  (If you're curious, the answer is: Mrs. Bone, that's who.)

He chatters on, pausing only long enough to hear my responses.  He points out a large anthill as we pass, ponders why we don't have sidewalks or a walking trail on our road, and asks at least twenty questions I can't answer.

"Daddy, hey Daddy.  What would happen if a wasp stung a bee?"

What?  I was all prepared for the birds and the bees.  OK, not really, but I figured the stork theory would get me through at least until he was eleven or twelve.  No one mentioned anything about wasps and bees.  Which one is the wasp?  And where do the stingers come in?  The wasps and bees are just wrestling, kinda like Mama and Daddy do sometimes when you're asleep.

"Uh, I'm not sure, buddy."

"Ooo, Daddy, look!  They have a big yard!"

"They sure do."

"Daddy, you should have bought that house.  We could have our football field by the shed, and then our golf course could be right up here."

I may or may not have dug two golf holes in our backyard (but definitely did).  And much like the baby situation, Mrs. B has put the kibosh on number three.

"That would be perfect, boog."

"Ooo, Daddy!  They have another big yard on the other side.  So, Daddy, one side could be mine and the other side could be Harper's.  And there's a pond where we could catch fish."

I move towards the center of the road to create a little space, but wherever I go he's close as skin, causing me to occasionally bump into him.

"Hey Daddy."

"Yes, bud?"

"Daddy, um, what will happen when the sun is swallowed by a black hole?"

I never knew there was so much I didn't know.  Also, when?  Not if???  What are they teaching this kid at school, other than grooming him to be a freedom-hating, non-binary liberal?  (Obviously. ◔̯◔)

At least the black hole question I can Google.  But rather than illuminate his mind with talk of quasars and accretion disks, I respond instead with, "Well, that probably wouldn't be good.  I hope that doesn't happen anytime soon." 

"Well Daddy, you know we wouldn't be alive anymore anyway," he chuckles.

I lean down and kiss him on the head.  Today he is wearing a bandana, a la yours truly.  Mrs. B often asks, "How does it feel to have a miniature version of yourself?"

It feels incredible.  Scary at times.  Amusing and heart-melting at others.  And humbling as all get out.

"Daddy, look."  He says this quietly, as we pass a white-haired gentleman holding what I surmise to be a 7-iron.  "I think that man might be playing golf."

"I think you're right, buddy."

The man looks up and smiles before returning his attention to his golf ball and taking a swing.

"Well, Daddy, at least he has a good yard for it."

We are headed back towards home by this time, and as we crest the hill, sunset pastels are beginning to color the sky in front of us.  I stop to take a couple of pictures and begin to sing "Pink Skies."

After a bit, I catch him quietly singing along to the parts he knows.  "Clean the house, clear the drawers, mop the floors, stand tall..."

Though he'll never admit to it, and probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, I'm so proud.

"Ooo, Daddy, that house has stake sprinklers!"

He's been wanting to get a spike sprinkler system set up in our backyard to make his football field greener.  🤦‍♂️  I find he isn't all that concerned with the cost of things at this point in his life.

As we near the end of our route, I spot the neighborhood ducks near the pond.  There used to be four.  It was common to see both lanes of traffic completely stop so they could patiently amble their way across the road, single-file.  For a while now, there have only been these two.

"Daddy, um, hey Daddy.  I wonder what happened to those other two ducks?"

"I'm not sure, boog.  I hope nothing bad."

"Hey Daddy, you know what I think probably happened?  I think these two are the kids, and the other ducks were their mama and their daddy, and they are probably grandparents now and have flown off."

Ducks retire and move to Florida.  Makes sense.  And sounds much happier than my theory that some fox probably had them for dinner.

"Hmm.  Maybe so, buddy."

"Daddy, wanna race the rest of the way?"

"Sure."

"Ready....  Go!"

He's off in a flash, a giggling blur of arms and legs.

Gone are the days of letting him win.  Now it is I who is struggling to keep up.