Knowing and understanding

Recently my SuperHeroGirl explained to me the difference between knowing and understanding things. It found that truly fascinating; first of all, realising she sees the difference; second, realising she is able to explain it in clear and simple way; third and final, realising she is not a baby anymore...

Now I know that if something is a fact, mum, there is nothing to understand. You either know, usually because I tell you, or not. And when I explain something to you, well, then you can understand, or not.

I have a vague idea of who I was when I was six. I recall I loved hiding underneath a coffee table, so that my grandpa couldn't see me, and I would shout that I was there after he looked for me around the house (yes, that was not one of my reasonable approaches to him and his health, but what can I say, I was six...). And that joy in hiding is something me and my daughter seem to share. But I don't recall having that deep examination of words, phrases, and attempts to define expressions and emotions properly. I guess we may call it a side-effect of English being our second language.

Still, it is fascinating...