"Do you know what comes from chicken eggs?" I asked, ushering him into the kitchen for a peek inside a carton full of fancy, large grade AA's.
"Egg yolks," he answered with all the sobriety of a 7-year-old who likes his omelets plain.
"Yes," I tried again, "but sometimes...under the right conditions...egg yolks turn into baby chickens.
"Under what conditions?" he said, lowering his voice and staring with some amusement at my knocking knees.
"When a mommy chicken meets a daddy chicken."
"What do you mean by meets?" the child asked.
Thinking he sounded like an interrogator for a terrorist regime, I wiped cold sweat from my brow.
"Well, the mommy chicken and the daddy chicken decide they want to become mates."
"Mates, like my two sneakers?"
"Not exactly."
"Like the pirates in Peter Pan?"
"No, not at all like that!"
"Then how?"
"Well, like a mommy and a daddy."
"Oh," he said simply. And then, pausing to digest that bit of information, his face lit up, "Mother, is this conversation about the birds and the bees?"
"Why, yes!" I gasped, not just a little bit surprised.
"Good, then I guess I can go water my feather. Dad and I have already had that discussion."
"Already? Then why all this talk about Peter Pan and pirates and shoes that come in pairs?"
"I was just testing to see if you knew."
"Just testing to see if I knew? But what about the feather?"
"What about it?" Mike said, leering like a Jack O' Lantern. "There's no law against a little kid exercising his imagination!"
"Guess not," I conceded; then, grasping at the chance to change the subject, asked, "By the way, how do you want your breakfast egg?"
"Hatched," he laughed and climbed onto his stool.
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| "Then why all this talk about Peter Pan and pirates and shoes that come in pairs?" |
