My neighbors have a small daughter. A few days ago, adorable Liana – who is currently in her ‘pink’ phase and drives her mother insane with it – took me aside to ask me an important question.

You see, she has this pink (of course) toy unicorn she calls Rose. A few days ago she watched an episode of some children’s show, which – surprise! – stars a pink unicorn. In that particular episode she befriended a black abandoned filly called Night Mare (pun probably intended, but completely lost on Liana). At the end of the show Night Mare left to find her parents. Liana was excited, because she thinks she has solved a mystery: Rose and Night Mare are actually sisters, and their parents are the same! Once Night Mare finds out she’ll return to Rose and they’ll be best friends forever!

She now wanted my opinion on this. Actually, she didn’t want my opinion. She wanted my confirmation. Looking into those huge, earnest blue eyes I pondered: Rose was a unicorn, Night Mare a horse. So they probably had at least one different parent, if not both. Would that upset her? Probably. What should I tell her? Should I lie?

Suddenly, I understood. I smiled and asked: “How did you find out?”

Liana happily clapped her hands and launched into a rambling story of unicorns, horses, and dark woods.

Why did I dodge the question? Let’s be honest. We are talking about the lineage of mythical beasts here. If the daughter doesn’t exist, who cares who her parents were? Theorizing about the genealogy of make-belief beings is a supremely childish exercise.

Yup, that’s the same way I think about Jesus.