My son, who is deep thinker and a child that possess a vivid imagination came to me the other day and said, “Dad, we need to talk“. He had a stern and serious look on his face and he motioned to the table. I said “Alright buddy”, knowing that this was going to be good since the last time he got that look and we had to sit down, he asked me if I knew about Jesus and proselytized such that Jerry Fallwell would have been proud… He is forever coming up with the funniest and often profound little quips: like yesterday when he told my wife that he had had the same Teddy Bear for his whole life, a bear that he clutches as he sleeps every night, and that when he got married his wife would have to just deal with him sleeping with Rocky Bear.
So, we sat down, me smirking with anticipation, and he says as he furred his brow and tapped all five fingers on the table for emphasis; “Daddy, I need you to tell me the truth. It is ok, I already know so you can tell me.” I was trying not to laugh when I answered, “Of course son, what do you want to know.”
“Well, me and Hunter (his partner in crime) have been thinking (my son ruminates on things for months sometimes) and we figured it out, I know what you do.”
“Umm what exactly you mean…”
“Dad it is really ok, I know you’re a spy.”
“Bwahaha! I’m a what!? Where in blue blazes did you come up with that one?! Who exactly am I a spy for?”
“You know us, the US, the CIA, like Jason Borne.”
“Son, I am not a spy”
“Look dad, you really need to tell someone, you’ll feel better and it might as well be me.”
Still laughing: “Son, why do you think I am a spy?”
“So, you fly all over the world, speak like 11 languages, have a pretty girl, a fast car with a TURBO, can do karate moves, have cool army guns, and not even mommy knows what you do for a living.”
My boy may be over-thinking and over-estimating my cool quotient, but God love him for it.
“Son, I am not a spy. I fly a lot for work – to fix airplanes & have crappy meetings – and I only speak 2.5 languages (poorly) and a few words of others here and there. You have been to my office – it’s boring.”
“Hunter said that it was a fake office like Mr. Smith’s (my 10 year old has SO not seen Mr. & Mrs. Smith…) and that its just to trick your enemies.”
I am almost peeing myself laughing at this point and it was made worse by the seriousness and earnestness of my child.
“My enemies… Son, I am not a spy.”
“Daddy, its ok. When you are ready you can tell me. I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Anyone except your friend Hunter…”
He raised an eyebrow at that and looked at me sideways, nodded his head knowingly and went back to playing with werewolf action figures and tormenting the dog with squeaky toys.