My 9-year-old son is an endless font of knowledge. He loves
soaking up information and spitting it back out randomly throughout the day.
You just never know when you’re going to hear about the world’s longest worm, or
how many pyramids there are in Egypt, or the hottest recorded temperatures on
earth.
You also never know when you’re going to be corrected by the boy due to your own incorrect information. Last week, on May 5th, I boldly declared, “Cinco de Mayo isn’t actually a holiday that celebrates anything specific. It’s just a cool reason to party at Mexican restaurants.”
My son promptly looked up from his plate and said, “Actually it celebrates Mexico winning its first battle against France.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, much less confident in the face of my son’s assuredness. I quickly whipped out my phone and looked up the origins of the holiday, only to find that the boy was, more or less, correct.
“Guess you’re right. I must have heard my information from a bad source,” I said, meekly going back to my French fries.
But while I have come to accept the fact that the boy is infinitely smarter than me, I have to keep in mind that he’s still a 9-year-old boy and there are times that he gets one of his unique factoids a bit jumbled. This morning, for example, he made a declaration that caused his 11-year-old brother to laugh out loud and gave me a moment of pause.
“Did you know there’s a bird called an Arctic turd,” he said, confidently.
“What is it called?” I asked, not quite sure if I heard him correctly.
“It’s called an Arctic turd,” he said chuckling. “It’s true. It flies back and forth from the Arctic to the Antarctic.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s called an Arctic tern,” I said.
“No, really—it’s a turd,” he said.
“Did you read this or hear someone say it?” I asked.
“My teacher said it, yesterday,” he said.
I immediately realized what was going on here. Perhaps the only thing my son loves more than soaking up knowledge is talking about bodily waste in crude terms. I’m sure that as soon as his teacher said the word “tern,” his 9-year-old boy ears registered the word “turd,” because deep, deep down he wants to believe that there is a creature out there called an Arctic turd. Amusing though this was, I felt compelled to correct him on this point.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, son, but the word you’re looking for here is definitely ‘tern,’ which is a type of bird. The only Arctic turds are the ones that come out of polar bears.”
My sons got a big kick out of my last statement, and proceeded to discuss what that would look like, with the phrase “corroded snowball” making an appearance. While my boys got a good laugh, I got a minor boost in confidence, knowing that there are still times when I don’t get outsmarted by a 3rd grader. I felt pretty good about that, but suddenly got nervous about what would happen if someone teaching him about breeds of dogs mentioned the Shih Tzu.
You also never know when you’re going to be corrected by the boy due to your own incorrect information. Last week, on May 5th, I boldly declared, “Cinco de Mayo isn’t actually a holiday that celebrates anything specific. It’s just a cool reason to party at Mexican restaurants.”
My son promptly looked up from his plate and said, “Actually it celebrates Mexico winning its first battle against France.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, much less confident in the face of my son’s assuredness. I quickly whipped out my phone and looked up the origins of the holiday, only to find that the boy was, more or less, correct.
“Guess you’re right. I must have heard my information from a bad source,” I said, meekly going back to my French fries.
But while I have come to accept the fact that the boy is infinitely smarter than me, I have to keep in mind that he’s still a 9-year-old boy and there are times that he gets one of his unique factoids a bit jumbled. This morning, for example, he made a declaration that caused his 11-year-old brother to laugh out loud and gave me a moment of pause.
“Did you know there’s a bird called an Arctic turd,” he said, confidently.
“What is it called?” I asked, not quite sure if I heard him correctly.
“It’s called an Arctic turd,” he said chuckling. “It’s true. It flies back and forth from the Arctic to the Antarctic.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s called an Arctic tern,” I said.
“No, really—it’s a turd,” he said.
“Did you read this or hear someone say it?” I asked.
“My teacher said it, yesterday,” he said.
I immediately realized what was going on here. Perhaps the only thing my son loves more than soaking up knowledge is talking about bodily waste in crude terms. I’m sure that as soon as his teacher said the word “tern,” his 9-year-old boy ears registered the word “turd,” because deep, deep down he wants to believe that there is a creature out there called an Arctic turd. Amusing though this was, I felt compelled to correct him on this point.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, son, but the word you’re looking for here is definitely ‘tern,’ which is a type of bird. The only Arctic turds are the ones that come out of polar bears.”
My sons got a big kick out of my last statement, and proceeded to discuss what that would look like, with the phrase “corroded snowball” making an appearance. While my boys got a good laugh, I got a minor boost in confidence, knowing that there are still times when I don’t get outsmarted by a 3rd grader. I felt pretty good about that, but suddenly got nervous about what would happen if someone teaching him about breeds of dogs mentioned the Shih Tzu.
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