One afternoon, a little boy was sitting quietly beside his father in the living room. He looked unusually thoughtful, like something important had been bothering him for a while.

After a few minutes, he finally turned to his dad and asked, “Dad, can I ask you a question?”

His father lowered the newspaper and smiled. “Of course, buddy. What do you want to know?”

The boy hesitated for a second, then said, “I know babies grow inside their mommies’ tummies…”

The father immediately froze.

The boy continued, “But how do they get there in the first place?”

His father blinked twice, cleared his throat, and suddenly wished the phone would ring, the doorbell would go off, or the house would somehow catch on fire just enough to end the conversation.

“Well,” he began slowly, “you see… when two people love each other very much…”

He stopped.

The boy waited.

The father tried again. “There is, uh… a special grown-up kind of… situation…”

The boy stared at him patiently.

His father scratched his head, looked at the ceiling, then at the carpet, and said, “It’s really more of a science thing. There are cells involved… and nature… and, you know… biology.”

The more he talked, the more confused and nervous he sounded.

The little boy listened for another moment, then sighed and gently interrupted him.

“Dad, you don’t have to make something up.”

His father looked both relieved and embarrassed.

Then the boy added:

“It’s okay if you don’t know the answer.”