Before I write this one, you should know that I’ve been working with teenagers since I was 19… I still was a teenager. Thus, smaller children are mysterious to me.
Don’t get me wrong – I actually like small children. I thoroughly enjoy talking to them as if they’re adults (which is probably part of the problem). Even the toddlers and babies are growing on me. I think I used to fear being yelled at and hated for mishandling diapers and tears.
So, here’s the story:
A week and a half ago, I was sitting at our after-church potluck thing, talking with several adults and one child.
The conversation turned to the duck funeral and the excess eggs that still occupy a significant portion of my fridge. I was talking about the differences between duck eggs and chicken eggs, and how they are different consistencies for the cooking.
Then, the child (yes, Andy, the child was yours and I’m very, very sorry)… the child started to seem sad and exclaim that I should not eat the eggs, but should rather let them grow up into little ducklings.
Not thinking about the developmental stage of this child, I was all, “It’s okay because I actually only had girl ducks, so there weren’t any baby chicks inside the eggs.”
I definitely realized I was headed into the danger zone right about the time I told her that you need a boy duck for the eggs to have baby ducks inside of them.
She thought it over quietly and didn’t say anything further, but I definitely wondered if there was possibly an awkward conversation later that evening or possibly the next day.