Out of the mouths of babes

Little Noah my stepbrother's child of four whose mother is Kristi the goatherder had a mouthful of oatmeal and he said,
Uncle your name is Blitz.
I answered, now just how would our dobie have the same name as me, Blitz von Baronhoffer?
Noah returned with his uncanny confidence in all things pretended: Because Uncle the moon is a circle of dirt.
In that moment in the presence of such pure certainty my mind and all my memories collapsed and my life was renewed. Henceforth would I be a nobody of any consequence. However, I am still not adjusted to Noah Benjamin's notion of my name being that of the family dog.