K, dropping you off at school this morning, you asked me to go and pick flowers with you.

At first I did not understand what you meant – or where you were seeing flowers.

We were standing in the parking lot, after all.

Finally, you pointed to the blooming bushes by your school building.

For the next 60 seconds, I tried to explain the tragedy of commons to you, like any over-reaching dad would do.

It went about as well as you expect explaining the tragedy of commons to a 3-year-old would go.

At the end of my monologue, you asked for the flowers again.

I told you I would get you flowers soon.

But you immediately asked me when.

Your birthday?

I said.

Yes. You get me flowers for my birthday.

You said back, pleased with yourself and ready for school.

The bushes were green and their blooms were pink.

I love you.

-Dad