It happened the weekend we went camping. My son was chopping wood for the pleasantries of an evening camp fire when he asked the ever-ambiguous question:

'How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?'

When he recited the query, I realized that what started out as a feeble attempt at a tongue-twister had turned into as vague and distant a question as 'Does a falling tree make noise when no one's around?'

Sure we were on vacation, but it's the duty of a mother and teacher to be forever interested in the education of her children. Analyzing my choices, I could either give him the answer, or make him think for himself. I, of course, chose the latter for my Plan A.

I pointed out that the futility of the question must first be recognized because of the animal's inability to carry out the assigned task. Still, if my son was determined to go through with this, the primary step, then, was to define the word 'chuck'.

Since it is here used as a verb and isn't capitalized, the first definition 'nickname for Charles' would not apply. The second definition is a verb, a slang for 'throw away."

The pared down version of the question and the precise dilemma, therefore, would be: 'How much wood would a woodchuck 'throw away' if a woodchuck could 'throw away' wood?'

I thought it would be downhill from there and dared to sigh 'Mission: Accomplished'. He did, however, pose a new problem even before we answered the above question. He assumed that 'chuck' meant 'chop'. (Remember, he thought of this little blurp while 'chopping' wood.)

In a flurry of coming up for air a third time, I reminded him that no forest animal can 'chop' wood, not even a beaver.

Well, by now, my son was on a roll, so he insisted with a raise of his brow, "Ah, but if they could, how much wood would they chuck?"

By this time, he had stopped chopping wood, I halted clearing the land for a tent set-up, and the rest of the family was being very tolerant with our logical bout into the black hole of critical thinking.

I didn't want him to think I was evading the question, so I had to think of something fast, just to save face. I launched Plan B. I told him:

Considering both definitions 'throw away' and 'chop', and the admirable idiosyncrasies of your average four-legged creatures in the wild, the woodchuck would only "chop as much as he needed" and "throw away none."

By now, I was wrapped up in the total confidence of a job well done. That soon passed, for I underestimated the unique activity of the teen-age mind. I was thrown into the fathoms of defeat when he then asked,

"How do you know it's a 'he', Mom?"

Well, I've only myself to blame for that one.

"Class dismissed. Go back to chopping wood, son."