this is the truth

“Annie, I know the truth about what you do,” said the five year-old. This was after a round of battles where she proclaimed, “You don’t know anything,” as a retort to my rap that went like this:

I
know
everything
I know everything.
I
know
everything.
I know everything.

After I gasped and said, “I can’t believe you would say such a thing to your Annie,” her face scrunched up in half smile, half shame. She was sitting on her father’s lap and trying to align herself with him since he was the one who initially said something about me not knowing anything. Then after a few rounds of my song and her shouting that I knew nothing, she proclaimed she knew the truth about me.

“What,” I said expecting a really good five year-old smart-alecky comment.

“You love the best.”