Because my beloved is on lecture-tour in South Africa, I sing a different set of lullabies than we would do if she were around to my almost-five-year-old-son before he goes to sleep. I let him choose and he nearly always wants my version of Doris Day's Que sera sera. I picked up the tune from my mom when I was a kid. I adapt the lyrics and improvise the story of his life and connect them to the main events of his day. When I first started doing this, when he was still an infant, I respected the generational structure of the stanzas, but during the last six months my son has encouraged me to focus the lyrics primarily on his life--luckily 'Avi' rhymes well with 'what will be, will be.' By the time I am done he is half-asleep; I wait in the darkness twenty minutes or so before leaving the room (if I don't fall asleep on the rocking chair).
Ordinarily, if I think about it at all, I associate the song with the importance of story-telling and a kind of amor fati. Sometimes my digressions drift, one associated impression too far, toward the very possibility of knowing too much. But last night, I noticed that the lyrics to Que sera sera (also) describe epistemic uncertainty ("the future's not ours to see"). And, not for the first time, yet always a familiar surprise, I recognize that my enduring intellectual commitments pre-date whatever philosophical skill I have developed.