I had just started making dinner when Stephanie came into the kitchen. She looked at me a little before asking me her burning question.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, Pumkin?" I said. I was trying to show that I was paying attention to her while not burning myself on the stove.

"Are we weird?"

She must've been talking to the kids at school again. Kids always seem to find something about other people to call weird. She didn't wait for my answer, though; she just kept on talking.

"On TV they always have ads where the mom cooks stuff, and then the dad comes home and sits down with dinner on the table already."

"Uh huh?" I could see where she was going, but didn't want to let on too soon.

"Well, with us, you do the cooking and Mom's the one who comes home to eat."

"What's different about that? It just means that the actor who played me was a woman."

"You're silly. No, really, I asked some kids at school, and a couple said their dads cook only when they barbecue. Others said their dads didn't cook at all. How come you cook, and not Mom?"

As a parent, I always liked these intellectual challenges brought forth from the kids. I wondered if it made me look wise when I gave them the perfect answer, like how my brother, sister, and I used to think when our dad gave us his brilliant answers to life's questions. Never mind that later we found out at least half of his answers were complete B.S. Of course, the answer to this one was easy.

"Well?" she said.

I must have paused too long thinking about the answer. "It's no big deal, really. It's just that when your mom was growing up, her mom--your grandma--always did the cooking. Your grandma liked taking care of your mom and her sister, so much so that she always whisked them away from the kitchen when they tried to help. Thusly, they never learned how to cook." I paused to stir the food. "But in my family, a lot of times my parents would come home late or tired, so we had to fend for ourselves. If we didn't know how to cook, we'd have to eat tuna sandwiches or frozen burritos."

"But I heard that it was a woman's work to be in the kitchen."

"Really? Well, I'm in the kitchen, and I'm not a woman." She nodded. "So I say, whoever's in the kitchen, that's whose work it is."

"Yeah, but aren't there rules or something--shouldn't Mom be doing the cooking?"

I laughed a little, and then pretended to check to see if my wife was around. "I'll let you in on a little secret," I said as I bent down to Stephanie's eye-level. "You don't want to see what happens when your mom's in the kitchen. Unless you like eating instant noodles every day, I'd just keep things the way they are."

"Okay."

I stood back up, and did some more stirring. "Anyway, as far as rules go, it doesn't matter who does the cooking, or the dishes, or whatever, just as long as it gets done. Really, when it comes right down to it, a man can do almost anything a woman can do."

"I guess so." She seemed to be satisfied with my explanation.

"If you like, you can watch me cook. When you get old enough to handle pots and pans, I can even teach you a thing or two about cooking. It always helps to know a thing or two."

"Even though it's a man's work?" She smiled at me. She was getting the idea.

"Hey, I know, you can help me make chocolate chip cookies. Then I can show you the secret ingredient that makes mine a thousand times better than the ones you get out of a tube."

"Okay, Daddy, but maybe another day. Today, Mom's going to show me how to change the air filter on the car."

With that, she skipped into the garage. Dinner was almost ready, so I had to call her brother Robby downstairs to help me set the table.

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