Last week, my wife decided to surprise my kids with a trip to the beach to watch the sun rise over the ocean. She and I woke up ridiculously early, got dressed, and went to get the kids.

“Wake up,” I said to my youngest. He groaned and stuffed his head under the pillow. I took it away from him. “”Hurry! Your mom’s taking you to the beach to see the sun rise, and if you don’t go quickly, you’ll miss it!”

He jumped up started grabbing his swimming stuff.

A few minutes later, I was pouring myself a glass of juice when both boys came out of their rooms.

“We’re going to see the sun rise?” my youngest said.

My wife glared at me. “Oh shoot!” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was a surprise.”

“What’s the sun rise?” my oldest asked, yawning.

The other three of us looked at each other, then his little brother started to answer.

“Don’t!” I interrupted him sharply.

“But -” he said.

“No.” I said. “You’re not allowed to tell him. I messed up the surprise for you, but you can’t mess it up for him.”

“But it’s the – ”

“Shush!” I said again, more sharply. “Don’t say it.”

He stared at me, outraged, then started to giggle. I had a tough time keeping a straight face, myself. After all, I was forbidding him from explaining what a sunrise was.

“What?” his older brother said. “I don’t get it.”

“Go have an adventure,” I said.

And they did.