Kids really do say the darndest things

Back in the '90s I used to religiously watch the US comedy show 'Kids Say the Darndest Things', hosted by Bill Cosby. The premise was Cosby asking kids 'adult' questions, which obviously led to humorous responses.

I think that we can all breathe a sigh of relief that Cosby never asked any of the kids how they think roofies are administered. It could have been awkward, especially if he corrected them.

That clip would have long since gone viral in this, the YouTube age. Speaking of YouTube clips, I wonder how many have watched that belligerent three-year-old, Mateo, back-chatting his mom: "Linda! Linda! Honey! Listen to me. Just listen!" The last time I checked it had been viewed about 10 million times. I was responsible for about 37 views myself. It would have been more had I lived in a country with decent bandwidth. But I digress.

My point is we all have "Linda, listen to me" moments that we wish we had recorded and uploaded.

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All of this is inspired by an incident at my house last weekend. The eight-year-old midget was busy attempting to peel an orange. After about two minutes, Mrs N goes to investigate progress. He's so notorious for his lack of dexterity that the 11-year-old often sings, "Do you know the Spilling Man?" [sung to the Muffin Man melody].

Anyway, when Mrs N inquired whether he was winning, his response was, "Yes, I'm winning, but the orange is fighting back!" What made it so hilarious for everyone in the house is that he is famous for his dry sense of humour, uttered with the most deadpan of facial expressions.

"Today's kids are much smarter than we were at the same age" is a line I heard many times from grown-ups when I was a mere piccanin. I find myself repeating it many times nowadays.

Have you ever had an 11-year-old say something so grown-up you were left with your jaw scraping your shoes? When he was seven I once drove all the way to my now 11-year-old's school because he had forgotten to pack his hockey stick that morning. It was only when I got there that it occurred to me that I had forgotten to pack his hockey stick as well. His response: "I believe the universe is trying to tell us that I'm not supposed to play hockey today."

At least he was being nice that day. After I once apologised for forgetting something important to him, he shook his head and inquired with a serious face, "While you were busy forgetting X, did you remember anything at all?"

Another time we were tinkering with his broken bicycle on the garage floor when he stood up, looked down at me and, with a concerned expression went, "You have absolutely no idea what you're doing, do you?"

A friend of mine, Nomo, and I have observed that one can't afford to approach conversations with these Google and Wikipedia Age kids with a lackadaisical attitude. All your faculties have to be in tiptop shape. He recently shared with me a run-in he had with his 10-year-old, Donda.

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The young man apparently asked him which came first: science or philosophy. Nomo hadn't ever given the question much thought but instead of just admitting that he didn't know, responded lazily: "That's a deeply philosophical question, son."

When the boy is irritated with someone's reasoning, he gets a slight stutter, so he responded: "No. It's actually a his-historical question," before walking off dismissively.

It is a story that sounds eerily like an encounter I had with the Spilling Man while transporting him to a hockey game two weekends ago. I pointed out to him that he had, yet again, forgotten to moisturise his legs and arms. I blame the influence of his melanin-deficient friends, who don't have to moisturise after a dip in the pool; with our complexion, the skin takes on particularly grey connotations if we don't. And there are few things more unattractive than an ashy behind.

A furious debate ensued, the central point of the young man's argument being that there is no point in moisturising when one's skin will be dry anyway after a few hours. I wasn't really paying attention, so I brought a knife to this gunfight by pointing out that moisturiser protects skin against the corrosive effects of UV rays. With a look of disdain on his face, he looked away and muttered, "If that made any sense, you'd insist that I bring sunblock and re-apply it every few hours."

Instead of being annoyed, I laughed sheepishly and thought to myself, "We're not doing so badly with raising them." Especially seeing as this is the same kid who, just a few years ago, wanted to go the games arcade dressed in his favourite Ben 10 pyjamas. I threatened that we'd leave him alone to house-sit. "You can't leave a three-year old alone at home," he countered, "because when the burglars break in, all I can do is pee, poop and puke on them."

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