“You’re the best dad in the whole wide world!”
I cringed. Like Adam who likely had a flurry of compulsions simultaneously
hit him for the first time after eating the forbidden fruit, the strong
compulsion to respond in a logical manner hit me. See, I have an aversion to
statistical and philosophical inadequacies that I tend to want to correct every
so often.
I looked at her bright face, waiting in anticipation for my
response. I could follow my compulsions and explain, “That is a very unreliable
statement”.
This would likely draw a quizzical look from her. The quick transition
from excitement to confusion would undoubtedly be comical.
“You see, given your very limited experience with other
fathers, or what we statistical theorists call the sample size, and given that
there are billions of fathers, your sample size is too small, thereby making
the margin of error for that statement substantially high. Therefore, sweetie,
me being the best dad in the world is highly statistically unreliable.”
I would feel the tension subside, my muscles relax, my
heartbeat normalize, and perhaps some dopamine would spurt around my brain,
providing me with a sense of satisfaction and happiness. Like a cocaine addict
having his fix after a period of delay, I would feel the world dissipate around
me, leaving me floating in the abyss of ecstasy.
On the other hand, my sweetie-pie – of course,
metaphorically speaking, she is closer in character to a honey-flavoured
biscuit, if a rigourous technical metaphorical analysis were to be conducted.
But it is apparently unconventional and ‘not fun’ to refer to my daughter as
honey-flavoured biscuit, or even just HFB – would have held her hand to her
face and heave a sigh of frustration. Even a “thank you sweetie” would have
sufficed for her.
“The less controversial statement would be to say that I am
a good dad.”
“Okay dad, you’re a good dad.”
Yet I was not completely satisfied.
“Even that is not without its ambiguities.”
“Argh!” She would yell.
“A good dad would have to be rigidly defined and possibly
indexed, and my performance as a father would then be compared to this ideal.”
Satisfaction complete.
She’s just six years old, I would think. I need to ignore my
compulsion and do the right thing.
“You’re the best daughter in the universe!”
“Provided there are other intelligent societies on other
planets, else it is more efficient to simply use earth as the comparative boundary.”