Encyclopedia Parker

It’s 12:30 in the morning. The phone rings. My heart jump-starts as my husband Mike reaches for it. Listening to his end of the conversation, I try to decipher who it is and what crisis they are facing.

“…’lo? (A sure sign that Mike was in a deep sleep; he’s generally not so lazy with his word.s)…hi, Sweetheart…(It’s one of the girls.)...no, we’ve been in bed since 10:30 (What could have happened that she’s out so late?) …that’s okay…(That’s right; always call when you need us.)....What do you need?...(Here it comes.)…What?...(Do I get dressed? Grab my keys?)…No, I don’t…(What does she need that we don’t have?)…Okay…love you too…bye.”

Mike hangs up the phone, punches his pillow, and settles his head before answering my unspoken question.

“That was Bethany. She wanted to know if we knew where Neil Diamond was born.”

Seriously.

We call them Encyclopedia Parker questions. From astronomy to zoology, ancient times to present day, art, literature, politics, pop culture, and religion, you name it and our children think we know everything about everything. It doesn’t matter that they are in college or beyond; in their minds, we’re the ultimate experts.

They average about one a week. Usually the Encyclopedia Parker questions occur when our children are in a deep philosophical conversation. For instance, with Bethany’s question (Yeah, I know, only Neil Diamond’s mother would think he rates that high, but go with me on this), whoever she was talking to made a comment like, “Neil Diamond lives in Nashville,” to which my daughter responded, “Yea, I knew that. He’s one of my favorite oldie stars.”

Other person: “He was born in Tennessee.”

Bethany: “No, I don’t think so.”

Other person: “Yes, he was.”

Bethany: “I’ll call my parents and ask.” Which she does. At 12:30 a.m.

Why doesn’t she look it up on the Internet, you ask? Because she was at work or driving or someplace without an Internet connection. Even if she did have access to the Internet, calling Encyclopedia Parker is faster than booting up her computer, and more trustworthy. Our kids know not to believe everything on the Internet. Why would her friend believe that we have the answers to their questions? Because our children’s friends also believe that Mike and I are the fountain of all knowledge. They’ve been known to call the Encyclopedia Parker hotline as well.

“Hi, Mr. Parker. This is Paul Thomas.”

“Hi, P.T.”

“You know that poem that goes, 'Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink?'"

“Yes.”

“What’s the title?”

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”

I blame it on the fact that Mike has a serious countenance, which intimidates our children’s friends and makes them think he is a genius. I blame it on Mike’s uncanny ability to store reams of trivial information — the kids have never won a game of Trivial Pursuit when playing with their father. I blame it on the fact that we homeschooled our children, so they are used to us giving them answers to questions. I blame it on our careers as freelance writers. Over the years, Mike and I have researched and written about countless topics.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled that our children — and their friends — trust us enough to come to us for answers to their questions, important and unimportant. I’m also glad that they’re smart enough to know not to trust everything they read on the Internet.

I just wish their quest for knowledge didn’t come during the middle of the night.

Paula K. Parker is a freelance writer living in a small town near Nashville, Tennessee, with her husband Mike, who is also a writer. Blessed – or perhaps burdened- with an insatiable curiosity, Paula loves to write articles, plays, reviews, books, and inspirational devotionals. When not writing, she spends her days playing with their five dogs, visiting with their five grown children, playing the harp, and working in her garden. Visit her at www.wordcrafts.net