Michael visited us at the weekend, and Dylan immediately wanted to play hide and seek. Michael was tired and suggested that perhaps mummy or daddy would play. “Hmm,” said Dylan. “That would probably be daddy, then. He’s always liked me.”
Later that day he climbed up onto my lap, his little face crumpled and tearful. “Daddy,” he said, “why do we all die?”
I informed him that it was just one of those things, but everyone did.
“But I don’t want to die!” he wailed.
I said not to worry, it wouldn’t be for ages and ages yet. At this, he grew thoughtful.
“When’s nanna going?” he asked.
I said I really didn’t know but that I didn’t think nanna had any immediate plans for going.
“But you know everything!” said Dylan.
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“Yes, you do,” he said, nodding at me encouragingly.
“I don’t!”
“You do!”
I thought at least the discussion was getting back to a manageable four-year-old level, but then he abruptly asked: “Do we come back?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Nobody knows.”
“Why not?”
“Um. I don’t know.”
“But daddy, you know everything.”
At that point Handy Manny came on the tv and I was never so glad to see a children’s cartoon programme. I just hoped none of the tools had a dreadful accident and had to be replaced. At the time, I breathed a sigh of relief, but I suspect my grilling on philosophical matters has not finished.