I was in our local Scotmid (Co-op) the other day, I walked in just behind a man in his late-20s or early-30s and his young daughter. While he stopped to look at the tabloids his daughter ran on into the store and began to explore. She sat on a kick stool beside the jams; I was looking for marmalade.
She took a jar from the shelf and looked at it. She was too young to read, and obviously didn’t recognise its contents. “What is this?” she asked as she looked up at me.
I smiled. “That’s honey,” I replied.
She still looked confused. “What’s honey?” she asked me.
At that moment, her father appeared and looked a little concerned that her daughter was speaking to a stranger. He took her hand, as she put the honey back on the shelf and led her to another aisle.
I felt sad that this little girl didn’t know what honey was. For the rest of my (five minute) stay in that shop I wanted to tell her what honey was, and where it comes from. I saw them weaving their way through the aisles, picking up bits and pieces that they needed. I stood in the aisle just in front of them, and wanted to turn around and say, “honey comes from bees!” But I was too late.