The Big Questions

"Billy" is the eight year old I babysit. He's great and super smart; the kind of kid who drops phrases like, "Impressive use of alliteration" into the conversation, just because he can. ("Don't forget to mention my penchant for physical comedy" was another winner.) He explains how gears work and then sympathetically pats the knee of his confused-looking babysitter, knowing full well she will never understand what the hell he's talking about. He routinely uses the word "frigates". I don't know what that word means.

Today Billy had a playdate with a boy from his class, a boy whose mother adhears to a different set of nutritional rules than Billy's mom. Billy's favorite snack is yogurt with wheat germ. His friend, on the other hand, was noshing on guacamole flavored Doritos and drinking some blue sugary beverage that bore a striking resemblance to Windex. These are not the sort of things Billy eats, ever. As we were walking home I noticed that he'd gone quiet. He was silent for a few blocks, clearly mulling something over. Maybe he was wondering how his friend's chips tasted or imagining the flavor of that blue soda. Whatever it was, it was a whammy. Finally he looked up at me and asked,

"Alisha?"

"Yes, Billy?"

"What's your favorite kind of lettuce?"