The Cheesy Moon

The Cheesy Moon
WC 214

My seven-year-old son and I were rocking on the porch swing looking up at the night sky.

"The moon is full tonight," I said, as I studied the yellow orb.

"Of green cheese, Daddy?"

When Dempsey was a toddler, I told him that the moon was made of green cheese.

"You remembered."

"Ms. Trainer says that can’t be so. The moon is too hot. The cheese would melt. Would it?"

I scrambled for an answer. "Well, Dempsey, the truth is--"

"And the moon isn't green," my son said as he craned his neck skyward.

"Green doesn’t refer to the color of the cheese, it means new cheese, unripe cheese."

"So my teacher is wrong. It is made of green, I mean new, cheese. I thought so."

I had to think.

We sat in silence.

"Doesn't new cheese melt?"

" Dempsey, let's continue this tomorrow. It's past your bedtime."

"Okay," he said and toddled off to bed.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth,” I said.

I felt like a coward. What would I do when the "birds and bees" conversation came up in the not-too-distant future?

I decided to deal with that conversation later. First things first. I still had to deal with explaining the moon being made of green cheese story.

Oy vey!