Obviously, You're Not a Golfer

I read to my daughter's kindergarten class today. Today being April 20th.

I read them Oliver Jeffers' Stuck, an absurdist kids' story about a boy who gets a surprising amount of stuff stuck in a tree while trying to get his kite down.

Why did I bring up the date, 4/20, which alert internet readers will recognize as the Marijuana Number?

Because I discovered that when you have a Q&A session with a bunch of six-year-olds, you get to have exactly the same conversations you had when you were twenty and doing bong rips.

Possible theories they had on how all the stuff (including a house, a large ship, and a blue whale) stayed stuck in the tree:

  • Glue tree
  • Tape tree
  • Tree that is not made of glue or tape but has it, like, on the leaves?
  • Tree leaves are actually super-strong Venus flytraps that grab onto the stuff
  • Tree is not an actual tree but instead a tree-shaped robotic mechanism controlled internally by an evil man bent on getting things stuck in tree simulacra

I floated the possibility of an implausibly gravity-dense tree and blew their fucking faces off.

This led to the probably-inevitable "whoa, knrk knrk, uh, what if there WASN'T gravity, man?!?!?!?" bongwater philosophy discussion that so many of us have enjoyed in our respective youths.

We agreed that no gravity would be a cool thing if you had a space helmet and a trampoline and a hammer to smash through asteroids. Because we are reasonable people.

Then they all drew silly stories. It was more than I'd hoped it would be. I got two hugs and a 'splodin' knucks at the end.

One of the hugs rubbed off a strong artificial apple-cinnamon incense smell on me, so to complete the day's theme, I now smell like a head shop.