The following, hard as it might be to believe, is a true story. The setting: Driving in the family car to a lavish lunch at the local Carls Jr. drive-thru. Saturday afternoon, November 1st. 2008.

My four year-old daughter is absorbed by a Disney cartoon on her seatback DVD player, while my seven year-old son fidgets in the back seat. I have lunch duty with my kids, because my wife is on a deadline, and needed to go into the firm on Saturday to tie up some loose ends. I am listening to a college football game on the radio when my son interrupts the play-by-play from the backseat:

"Hey, Dad, how are we going to vote on Proposition 8?"

Aside from the plural "we", which I found kind of cute, this was not the question I was hoping for. Discussions on marriage with a second grader is not my idea of a fun conversation, "traditional" or same sex.

"Why do you ask, buddy?"

"Well, Dad. I have been thinking about it. And I talked about it with some friends at school. And I think we ought to vote "yes."

Ruh-roh.

This comes, to say the least, as a shock. I am pr