So we checked out a retelling of The Little Red Hen from the library. For those of you not up on your kiddie lit, the aforementioned hen asks her friends to help with every step of the process of breadmaking (planting the seeds, tending the wheat, cutting and grinding the wheat, and baking the bread) but they always refuse to help. At the end, she refuses to share the bread with them.
The moral seemed obvious to me: something about the idler not eating the bread of the laborer.
But my recently-turned-three-year-old argued very eloquently (well, for a three year old) that the hen was in the wrong because she wouldn’t share.
This perspective had never occured to me. This, by the way, is why I like kids. In a separate incident, the six year old suggested to me that we name the new baby after him. I asked him if he thought that might be confusing. He admitted that it would, but that that would be outweighed by the fact that everytime I called, I would have two kids come to help me. That never would have occured to me. But I digress. I am still trying to figure out if the hen was wrong not to share the bread.