At the dinner table, Kid A asks me why there is dirt in our spaghetti. "It's not dirt," I reply. "Those are spices."
"Why are ladies' sounds bumpy?" he asks.
"Why do ladies' voices go like this?" (Moves his finger in a snaky shape)
"When they're singing?"
"That, my son, is called vibratto."
He thinks for a minute. Then he looks at his food again. "Spices sure look just like dirt," he says. "And why does dust come out of sand?" Needless to say, I'm stumped. I just look at him and smile, and he goes off into space in something that I call the Kid A zone, which is second only to the Chinua zone.