There’s nothing like having a 6-year-old child to make you feel incompetent.

My oldest son started first grade this week. He’s already a little information sponge, and he thinks Dad is the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

“Dad, where are the Netherlands?” he asked one night while he watched Olympics soccer. He was hanging upside down, his knees hooked over the armrest of a couch and his hair nearly dragging the floor.

“Um, that’s where they make nether, Son,” I mumbled, turning the page in my new Sports Illustrated, “ ... over there, in that land.”

“What?” he exclaimed, clearly agitated at my inattentiveness.

“Huh?” chimed in his 1-year-old-brother, sensing it was a good time to pile on Dad.

“OK, guys. Here’s the thing, I don’t know exactly where the Netherlands are. When I was little, they called it Holland, and some Dutch people live there — although they may now call themselves Netherlanders for all I know — and they all wear wooden shoes.”

“OK,” said the 6-year-old, satisfied.

“Huh?” repeated little brother.

Welcome to my life.

In just the last two weeks, I have fielded the following earnest questions from my 6-year-old son:

* Dad, why don’t the Steelers ever play football in South Pittsburg?

* Dad, why don’t they sell food at Home Depot?

* Dad, what is at the center of the earth?

* Dad, why are the days shorter in Nashville?

* Dad, what will a gnat do to a person if it’s mad?

They say middle-aged people should work crossword puzzles or learn a new language to keep a sharp mind. Those of us with young children should get a pass. My life is one unending game of Trivial Pursuit.

One of our favorite television shows these days is “Cash Cab” on the Discovery Channel. Maybe you’ve seen it. People hail a cab, only to find out that they’ve stumbled onto a game show in which the cabbie asks them a series of questions for money.

“Hey, Dad,” I hear the boy shout from the living room while he’s watching “Cash Cab.” “Who’s the prime minister of Great Britain?”

“Winston Churchill,” I reply from the kitchen.

“Wrong,” he reports seconds later.

I like pulling his leg, although I make sure to answer some of his questions with a sincere “I don’t know.” Children need to understand up front that parents don’t have all the answers.

Sometimes, through his questions, I get a glimpse at his heart. All of this information that goes in his head is getting filtered through his 6-year-old consciousness.

In recent days, I’ve been asked these questions, too:

* Dad, why has a brown man never been president?

* Dad, why do some poor not have houses to live in?

* Dad, how will we buy food if you die?

Funny. We’re 43 years apart, but we still worry about some of the same stuff.

Thankfully, I think we can remove belligerent gnats from our worry lists.

Mark Kennedy’s new book, “Life Stories,” a collection of his columns is available at Amazon.com.

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