My grandfather, Opa, had the same kind of charisma. I thought he was the best storyteller in the world. Sometimes, my cousins would come over and we’d all bounce on the big feather bed. Then, Opa would turn down the lights, creep up to us and in a spooky voice say, “Im tiefen Wald …” (in the deep woods), and I’d get the shivers and we’d all snuggle down and giggle and poke each other. Those were the best stories ever. Later on, I wanted to tell my own daughter the Tiefen Wald stories, but somehow, I couldn’t remember any of the actual stories. I asked my cousins about it at a family reunion. We racked our brains, but finally concluded that maybe there had never been any actual storied. He just gave us the thrilling beginning and that was enough. Three words. He had the gift.

I do not have the gift. I mean well, but something always goes wrong when it comes to kids. Like the time some friends and their little girl came over. She was coloring then asked me to draw her a kitty. Delighted that for once a little kid had picked me, I drew her a kitty. She seemed satisfied and came back a few minutes later for a doggy. I drew a doggy. Things were going great until she asked me to draw a snake. I drew a snake and gave her the paper. She looked confused, then incredulous. She pushed the paper back at me. “You forgot the legs!” she said. “But snakes don’t have legs, honey,” I said. “Draw the legs!” OK, OK. I drew the legs. She snatched the paper back and that was the last thing I drew for her. I had let her down.

The next kid had an even sadder experience. I had been diligently telling myself that my healthy banana-based cookies were the real thing. Some other friends dropped by with their little boy. I asked him if he’d like some chocolate chip cookies? He sure would! But when I brought them out, he looked disappointed and politely said, “No, thank you.” His politeness made it worse.

But the child who thought I was the dumbest lives in Japan. We taught English there when we were first married, although neither one of us spoke Japanese. There are three writing systems in Japan, and one of them is sort of like an alphabet. We were at someone’s house and their little girl had an alphabet-type board with these characters. She showed me the board and proudly rattled off all the sounds. I applauded and she did it again. I made admiring noises. Then she handed me the board and motioned that it was my turn. I tried to get her to teach me the sounds, but she wasn’t having it. When she realized that I genuinely didn’t know the alphabet, all respect vanished. She had never known grownups could be as stupid as that.

And lastly, there’s my own daughter. For the first 30 minutes of her life, I (or rather the nurses) did great. After that, from her point of view, it’s been pretty much downhill from there. She knows me too well. But I have managed to teach her a few useful things. At least she knows enough to put legs on the snakes.

Anneli Byrd is an academic adviser in Weber State University’s Student Success Center.