When I was three I learnt to sing-song 'Twinkle twinkle little star' and clap my hands at the same time from sheer lack of accoustic accompaniment. Then, I remember being oohed and aahed over, wonderment in the eyes of my parents and an idiotic sort of pleasure apparent in any adult who happened to overhear.

Fifteen years later I taught it to my nephew. Only a little differently.

"Twinkle Twinkle little bat

How i wonder what you're at

Up above the world so high

Like a tea-tray in the sky"

He coo's it beautifully. Lewis Caroll could not do it more justice. And his mother proudly watches on. Oohing and aahing and clapping for him.

And about fifteen years from now, my own sister will be a mother. She will also be a doctor. An Obstetrician or an Oncologist or a Cardio-specialist - names that I have learnt to spell with great difficulty. Starched white coat, glasses perched on her nose, and an intimidating number of framed certificates on her wall. I already have a rhyme to teach her son. This one I believe, was written by one Mr. Ian D. Bush.

"Twinkle, twinkle little star
I don't wonder what you are
For the spectroscopic ken
tells me you are hydrogen"

His mother will be proud too. Perhaps she will not clap along or clap too loud, but she will indulge him with a smile. History after all, repeats itself. Doesn't it?