The proof is in the kitchen right now. As my laptop plays the theme from "Firefly," Evangeline is singing along, in the right key, knowing every word by heart, and with all the yearning of the Malcolm Reynolds she hides inside her thoughtful, expressive exterior. And she's never even seen the show.
Her younger sister isn't much different. Last summer, Rachel wowed her Uncle Brian with an enthusiastic rendition of "The Ballad of Jayne Cobb," also known by heart.
So my children unquestionably are geeks. That's probably also why Evangeline swears "by Peter, Paul and Mary" (but not yet by Crosby, Stills and Nash), and why the girls each know the lyrics to at least half a dozen Bob Dylan songs. They may be geeks, but as Indigo observes, it's a cute sort of geekiness.
The trouble is that behind them stands another geek, the one responsible for teaching them not only these songs but many others also. That person -- whoever he (or she) may be -- is the ubergeek, and there's no doubt that it's not as cute where she (or he) is concerned.
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