I love this question. On the one hand, it’s fascinating that these little people are asking questions that I’ve long ago taken for granted. Why is it dark at night? Why can’t animals talk? Why do horses like to run? Why is fire hot? Why do we live here? Why can’t that man walk? Why is mommy a girl? On the other hand, I realize that these sincere, spongy, little people are born not knowing a whole lot and they depend on me and my wife for almost everything, including answers to life’s mysterious questions, and that’s an incredible responsibility and who’s crazy idea was it to let me raise two children anyway?

I’m usually pretty good with the answers, but once in a while they’ll come up with some zingers. A couple of days ago, the Girl asked, “Why are we one person and not two?”

Er?

Now, I’m not ashamed to admit to my children when I don’t know something. I don’t pretend to be an all-knowing oracle. My children will one day hear from a friend, let’s call him Sam, over coffee (or just as likely, via instant message) the story of the day he discovered that his dad didn’t know everything and what a revelation that was and so on. And my kids will say something like, “Huh, that’s interesting,” because they have good manners, but really they’ll think it’s weird.

So, I told her I’d get back to her on that one.

Honestly, I never expected to have to field questions about personal identity and the reality of existence — I blog, therefore I am, and all that — until one of the kids took an undergrad philosophy course. And not just the standard, “Why am I me (and not somebody else)?” Oh, no! Why am I only one person instead of more than one? What would it be like to be two people? Would it be a single consciousness with two bodies? Would it be like telepathic twins, sharing all of their thoughts?

Four-year-olds. Sheesh.