Who's your daddy?

An adult meets a child for the first time, let’s say when two friends meet-up and one of them has a young kid. The other adult might ask the parent one of the following questions about the child (I’m going to pretend it is a boy for simplicity sake so I do not have to keep typing he/she, which is a pain a such a waste of forward slashes):

• How old is he?
• What school does he attend?
• What is his name?
• Who is his daddy? (I.e. Who's Your Daddy?!)

Notice the questions were asked about the boy. A bit like when you enter a car showroom and ask the sales-person about the car: what the engine capacity, top speed is or if dents can be easily removed.

All of the sudden, the parent turns to the child and says to him, “How old are you?”, “What school do you attend?”, “Who’s your daddy?” Awkward silence inevitably follows as all three parties try to figure out what just happened. The parent obviously wants the boy to be a man and answer the question himself - however, the deflection in the line of questioning opened of a rift in the force which resulted in a mini-nuclear explosion at the micro-automic level, undetected to the human ears (dogs maybe can hear). A complete paradigm shift occurs at this point, which basically makes everyone feel itchy.

The two older parties hover over this small human trying waiting impatiently for a response while the smallest member of the supposed three-way dialogue either 1) rummages through his memory bank looking desperately for the answer to these perplexing and sudden questions or 2) doesn’t give a damn and carries on digging for yummy boogers. The parent probes again, this time a bit louder, ignoring the fact that the boy had just excavated a colossal delicious looking blob that should not have been in there in the first place. The friend hangs in there in an uncomfortable pose, bent slightly over the little child but eyes looking directly at the parent with a look that says “Save me bro, please, just tell me what his freaking age is so I can go. I’m actually not really that interested.”

After a full minute of haggling, the boy blurts out the answer in a muffled tone that sounds like “three”, “puree” or some groan that could have been caused by excess booger munching. The friend can’t make it out, but he is not going to ask again.

The parent grins in delight at the excellent articulation of the boy and cries out spontaneously “HIGH FIVE!” The friend is caught off-guard (because he was about to walk off) and automatically sticks his palm out, sheepishly thinking that it was a command meant for him. The boy on the other hand has returned his index finger to his nose, his eyes squinting downwards to get the extra leverage.