Why?

Sophie's moved on to the "why" phase.

It's quite a cute and lilting "why."

I think perhaps it's just the sound of it that intrigues her, since she doesn't seem to care for my answers. Or maybe it's just that she's only two.

Why shouldn't she yell "Mine!" at the little girl on the playground who glanced at her ball? Because it's impolite.

Why is it impolite? Because it is unsolicitous of others and indicates through word and deed that one cares less for the other than for oneself–which even if true, even if almost always true, shouldn't be advertised because

Why?

because a certain social lubrication is necessary to get through life in as easy a manner as

Why?

Why what? Why the need for social lubrication per se or why the personal obligation incumbent on you, specifically, that

Why?

Well, well, as to the former, we can consider that from a purely practical standpoint it will be necessary to maintain at least the fiction of comity in social life.

Why?

And, well, I'm getting to that–and as for the latter, you've got to ask yourself about the arbitrariness of the boundaries you've set defining "me" and "mine" and the ways in which you are, in fact, constituted by your fellow human beings. Your mother and me, for instance.

Dis MY ball!

Well,...

Look: Consider Hegel's Master/Slave dialectic...

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Later, I put her in her swimsuit, got out her turtle pool, got a folding lawn chair from the car so that I could sit down, and was met–when I turned around–with a cackling Sophie and the hose. Which has a spray nozzle she's just strong enough to press.

"Why?! Why?!" I screamed.

She had no good answers either.