Hypothetical Questions

Note: as the husband of the blogger I have been commissioned to post to my wife's blog while she is off enjoying a visit with her parents.  I can't say that the writing will be up to usual standards.  Hopefully, its a little something to tie you over until the talent returns.

As I was driving to the airport the Rock Star began peppering me with questions—this of course is not unusual.  Garrett loves to talk.  He often doesn't stop to take a breath between whole sentences.  Make that paragraphs.  It’s a wonder he’s never passed out in the middle of one of his extended dialogues. 

As we approached the airport he seemed to realize that this was his last chance to ask me for answers that I might not be able to sufficiently provide for the next ten days.  He began to ask me questions, hypothetical questions.  Questions that he deemed extremely important.  Such as:

“Dad, if there was a war where we were invaded by T-Rexes what would you do”

“What?”  Seriously, are you worried about this or are you just trying to ascertain my bravery when I am in REM state?  “Is this a problem you’re worried about?”

“No Dad, what would you do?  If T-Rexes invaded and all the people were shooting them with guns what you would you do?”

OK, I’ll play along but I seriously need more information.  What is the size of the attack force?  Have these revived fossils suddenly increased in intelligence enough to organize an invasion or are they simply running amok devouring everything in sight---all those years of pent up carnivorous frustration being unleashed on suburbia?

Why am I defending myself?  Where is the National Guard?  I hope my tax money would be put to use in order to defend me--in the case that giant prehistoric lizards had returned to launch an assault on my neighborhood.   

“I’d make sure my family was inside, and then I’d do everything I could to protect my family?”

“How?”

“Probably with a gun.”

“What kind?”

“Any kind I could get my hands on.”

“Or maybe a sword.”

“No.  No.  Definitely not a sword.”  What?  A Sword to charge a T-Rex?  Each of its teeth are tiny swords.  Have you not seen Jurassic Park?  Wait.  No you have not YET seen Jurassic Park because you’re six and aside from my opinion that you’re not yet old enough, I further don’t want  you sleeping in my room for the next month due to nightmares.

“Maybe, a sword," He continued.  "You could cut its legs.” 

And it could eat my head.  Seriously kid, are you not thinking this through or have I done something to anger you?

“No.  Definitely not a sword.  I’d be attacking it with something I could attack it from far away.”  I realize I was repeating myself and that I just used the verb "attack" twice in the same sentence, but I am trying to relay the actual conversation. . . .

“I’d attack it with a slingshot.”  The Little Buddy suddenly decided to enter the conversation. 

“A slingshot really?”  The wife also is joining in.  Actually, she has been listening the entire time  laughing silently.

“Apparently Matthew has been watching a lot of David and Goliath,” I answered.  “You come at me with Teeth and Claw And Crushing Tail but I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts . . .”

By this time we had pretty much arrived at the airport so the great dinosaur invasion hypothetical came to an end.  Good thing too, because next I’m sure Garrett would be asking me how I’d react when 18^th century Pirates began terrorizing the coastal cities of Utah . . . Based on a conversation we’d had a couple days previously.  I didn't really give him an answer because he couldn't really explain to me how it had come to pass that Utah was suddenly a coastal state.  I mean what had happened to west coast and Nevada?

For the next ten days I’m going to miss my son the hypothetical question-asker and my other son the slingshot-defender.  At least I can write about them.  And I can wonder what kind of questions my wife is being forced to answer in my absence.