tell me. . .

Should the boy squish the ant? What do you think, Michael?

Tell me, Nonny.

The kitchen's on fire. William in his bathtub is riding a tidal wave down the stairs. What do you think will happen next, Michael?

Tell me, Nonny.

So much of my life, my work, is about coaching others to tell me what they think.

But this morning, looking into Michael's eyes, I knew that this time it really was all right to tell him what I was thinking. . .

Except for these two questions.

Michael will have to make his own way through the moral minefield of squishing ants, just as grandbabies before him have been invited and expected to.

And, even at not quite four, given enough of a story recap to think with, he was able, this morning, to predict that the tidal wave from the broken faucet upstairs would put out the fire. Which it did, in that picture book world.

But for all those other times this morning , all Michael's other invitations to

Tell me, Nonny,

I did--and very much enjoyed (while I still may) being allowed to--tell.