At school this year, my second-grader made his momma a framed word cloud, with words like “pretty” and “kind” and “perfect.” His older brother made one last year, and my wife hung them both right next to each other in the kitchen.

The other day I was looking at the two images, comparing the words the boys had chosen. My oldest son saw me looking at them. “Why don’t they do that for dad?” he asked.

Recognizing my cue, I launched into my poor me routine. “Cause no one loves dads,” I said. “We’re all alone in this cold cruel world.”

He shook his head seriously. “No,” he said. “Dads are very important.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“They’re for sex.”

I did a double-take. “What?”

“I know, Dad. I know all about sex. Mom told me.”

“Huh.”

“Dads are for sex.” he said with a firm nod.

“Okay,” I said. “I think you should stop now.”

“I know that you and mom did sex,” he said.

“That’s enough,” I said.

He shrugged and walked away.

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