"Daddy?" Isla gazes out the window as I gently brush her hair, laughter and faint contemporary music coming from the backyard where our guests are mingling and celebrating my birthday. Just a couple of minutes ago, my daughter accidentally threw juice on her dress so we're changing into a new one and fixing her hair.
I know she already has an interesting question for me. "Yes, Jellybean?"
"Why is the sun called the sun?"
I blow out of breath. My daughter turned three years old a couple weeks ago. She's at that stage where she questions everything. I want to give her all the answers, but how the hell am I supposed to do that? How do you answer all these things?
"That's a really good question. Why don't we find out tomorrow in the library?"
"Okay! You'll find it with me, Daddy?"
"Of course." I smile.
