The idle questions of a preschooler

For whatever reason, whenever I've had a get-together with some of Connor's peers, the idle chit-chat with other parents always turns to difficult questions^TM.  And, even more surprisingly, I'm somehow viewed as a sage, someone equipped to provide wise responses^TM to posers like:

Your kids play so nicely together. How can I get my boys to get along?

It's all about incentive. Like, "sharing toys means you get to stay  up 

10 minutes more". Give the kids a reason to get along. But keep it small

and  time-focused, or you'll be in the business of buying matchbox cars 

and pumping your kids full of ice cream each night just to keep the peace.

My son told me, "Daddy, I don't want you to ever die." What do I say to that? 

Be honest.  Death is a part of life.  It gives life meaning, a reason to do 

stuff today, because we never know when we might not be around anymore.

 Without death, we'd always push stuff off to tomorrow.  And what would 

you rather hear... "Let's go to the playground  today?" or "What's the hurry?

 We can go to tomorrow?" 

How can my kids be good eaters like Connor?

Have them help you cook stuff they like.  When they start seeing those 

different elements come together, they'll have a better appreciation for 

different tastes.  Or if that fails, give the food disgusting names. Because a 

kid may not like "hummus", but a four year old will be intrigued by a big 

serving of "stork poop".  

But I'm in trouble.  I mean, who do I turn to when my son poses a question like,

Daddy, why is that man shaving his chest?

Right?  

Let's rewind a bit.  Connor at T-ball: pretty good hitting on a tee, now a champion base-runner, fields foolishly, and throws like Elaine Benes dances. In his defense, Connor's a lefty, and I see him trying to map the throwing motion of all the righty coaches into something similar.  That means bending his elbow into his body, warping his wrist inwards, and doing a whole lot of Tommy John surgery-inducing movement from his funhouse mirror interpretation of a game of catch.  So in an attempt to provide a major league ready role model, I let my son watch some baseball.  He's rapt - he thankfully watches so little TV that this is not a surprise.  But it's a live event, so that means commercials.

And that's when we get 28 seconds of Gillette ProGlider Fusion fun. Now, the innuendoes surrounding  manscaping would ordinarily go completely over Connor's head. But intercut into the footage of Ron Burgundy's never-ending pool party circa 2013 are images of a man "tidying up"  his pectoral area.

Now, my son has seen me shave.  But when I shave, I:

• use shaving cream (I'm a sensitive skin kid of guy)
• don't shave in a series of quick flourishes (I would need fourteen titches if i shaved with the level of relish used in a TV spot)
• never shave my chest.

So when he asks, I tell him some people do that.  And that opens Pandora's box.  

"Why don't you shave your chest?" 

I never wanted to, Connor.

"But your chest is hairier than his, Daddy." 

Yes, because he shaved it. 

"Would your chest have less hair than his if you shaved it?" 

It depends on how I shave it.  

"Would you have muscles like that if you shaved your chest?" 

I think if I had muscles like that I would shave my chest.  

"Can you get muscles like that?" 

Oh look, Connor, the game is back on!.  

Ugh.  Now I understand why my wife watches all TV via Tivo.  

The  saving grace to this awkwardness? The fact that my son missed the inference that Kate Upton likes below-the-waistband clear-cutting. Because that would have led to some really bizarre questioning that I don't want to think about.