What is Love?

Daddy, what is love?

And so it begins. My seven year-old-twin boys, Archibald (not his real name) and Mortimer (not his real name, either), begin their exploration into the world. Ok, they actually started their wild and crazy adventure in the world as soon as they were born.

It was simple enough back then. Toes, fingers, crib, mommy, daddy, smart phone, electric toothbrush, toaster, cordless screwdriver, etc. It was the discovery phase of all things physical.

Next came the entry into the world of people with enrollment in daycare and then pre-K. They never played Doctor with anybody, at least that we know about. They did question the class lizard and why its cage was lined with shredded pink paper. The lizard was named Lizzie. We tried to explain that even though pink is a traditional girl color, the lizard picked that color personally because she liked it. When a different color of paper was put in the terrarium, Lizzie stayed in the corner and only ate candy.

The little buggers graduated from toddlerhood into First Grade and immediately started questioning their existence, or more appropriately, how homework aids them in their existential awareness of the universe. I questioned how come there is more homework now than when I was in school? But then, I never did my homework on the computer which uploaded into the school system so the teachers could see it. My calculator was my fingers.

Also in First Grade, they discovered girls. One girl in particular piqued their interest, Chelsea (not her real name). She could outrun, outjump, outplay and outshout the little buggers. It was like at first tag.

Their journey together continued into Second Grade, their current grade of residence. But, something changed. My little buggers, the guys who grew up in front of my very eyes discovered that people are really different. Specifically, boys and girls were different and that there was this mysterious force known only as love.

They weren’t sure what it is. I tried to explain that I wasn’t sure what it is, either. But, it’s a good thing. It’s like playing tag while flying and nobody gets hurt. Well, in tag nobody would get hurt. In love, everybody gets hurt at some point. Maybe, I’ll save that part of the discussion till later.

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