“Scio me nihil scire.” I know that I know nothing. I know that I know nothing of Latin, I know that I never studied Socrates in school, but I know that I did crack open my Encyclopedia Britannica set to look him up after he was kidnapped and displaced over a hot medium in time by Theodore ‘Ted’ Logan and Bill S. Preston Esquire in 1989. I know that I enjoy being paradoxical. For all the knowledge I possess you contain a varied mass and different kind that I simply know not a damn thing. I know that I know nothing. My son is nine, he already knows everything. He says, “I know, I know.” I say, “pretend that you don’t, and go from there.” He may not always listen to me, but sure glad I finally do.