Conversations with a Six-Year-Old Philosopher

They say, “Never work with children or animals.” I disagree—interviewing my 6-year-old son turned out to be the most entertaining, thought-provoking, and laughter-filled conversation I’ve had in years. Somewhere between his love for ice cream and his ghostly tickle plans, I discovered that childhood isn’t just about innocence—it’s a kind of wisdom adults often forget.

So, here’s how our exclusive interview went down—me with my “serious” journalist notebook, and him with chocolate-stained fingers and the attention span of a butterfly.

Q: If you could make one rule for the whole world, what would it be?

A: “No homework. Only ice cream. Teachers can also eat ice cream in class.”

(Imagine the UN meeting this proposal. Suddenly, world peace seems achievable.)

Q: What do you think clouds are made of?

A: “Cotton candy, but God eats the pink ones before we see them.”

(Adults: take notes. NASA, are you listening?)

Q: If toys could talk, what would they say about you?

A: “They would say—stop squishing us under your pillow at night. And also, thank you for rescuing us from the monster under the bed.”

(That’s loyalty: half complaint, half gratitude.)

Q: What is love, according to you?

A: “When mama shares the last piece of chocolate with me, even though I know she wanted it more.”

(Excuse me while I melt faster than ice cream on a summer’s day.)

Q: If you were invisible for one day, what would you do?

A: “I would tickle dad until he thought the house had a ghost.”

(So much for noble causes—welcome to invisible mischief.)

Q: If laughter had a color, what would it be?

A: “Yellow, because it looks like sunshine and sounds like a banana slipping.”

(Shakespeare could never.)

Q: If you could rename the days of the week, what would you call them?

A: “Sleepday, Chocolateday, Toyday, Cartoon-day, Picnicday, Birthday, and Sleepday again.”

(A seven-day calendar I wouldn’t mind living by.)

Q: If the moon could give gifts, what would you ask from it?

A: “A trampoline so big I can jump and touch the stars. But not too high, otherwise I’ll bump my head on Mars.”

(Practical astronaut goals.)

By the end, he dashed away mid-sentence to chase an actual butterfly, leaving me smiling at my half-finished notes. And it struck me: his answers were funny, innocent, but also deeply layered. Kids don’t carry the weight of the world—they simply create new worlds, one cotton-candy cloud at a time.

✨ Thought to Ponder: Maybe the greatest wisdom lies not in how much we know, but in how simply we can see. The world could use a little more six-year-old logic.