On a regular weekday, my 8-year-old walked into the kitchen as I busily hustled up breakfast and said, ‘I understand that I popped out of your tummy in the hospital, and that makes me your son. But how come I’m daddy’s son too? He’s only the bothersome guy who married you!’ I was half-amused, trying to grapple with the situation. This was not the first time my little one, studying in the third grade, had asked me this – and I had, on all the previous occasions, given him many evasive replies, ‘Y...
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