Calling Daddy's Bluff

Last night, Ian asked me if I knew the historical origins of the candy cane, and why it's shaped the way that it is.  I don't know if the version of the story that I heard is true, but I did have some information, and I passed on the theory to Ian and asked whether or not it was correct.

It was, Ian confirmed.

I hadn't been able to tell whether Ian was asking me whether I knew about the candy cane so that I could tell him, or so that he could tell me, but as soon as we finished the brief exchange, I understood:  Ian did know, but he was presenting it in interrogative mode, rather than in the form of "Guess what I found out..." because he only wanted to impart this information to me if I wasn't already in possession of it.

Why would he make a point of establishing up front whether I was telling him or he was telling me?  Because he wanted to avoid the format of information exchange where he tells me something that he knows, and I feign astonished, fascinated discovery of something that I knew all along.  He only wanted to tell me, and have me be impressed and grateful for the education, if he was actually presenting new information to me.   He didn't want to endure any phony discoveries from a Dad who  already knew the whole story.

I guess he's got my number.

Similarly, he hates the thought that I could ever let him win any game, whether it's chess, tag, or anything else.  He also doesn't like it when I let the others win.  When we went bowling last month during our visit to Colorado, Ian himself opted not to bowl, but he still looked on with utter disgust when, having discovered that I was doing a little too well against Daniel, I suddenly started flailing and blundering in the last few turns of the string.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the Reality Police caught up with me, but I am a little surprised that they're enforcing the law so relentlessly, already at the tender age of nine.

(December 13, 2012)