“What was the name of that band you wanted to see last month when we were out of town?” I asked my 14-year-old stepdaughter at dinner last night.
“Sherwood,” she answered.
“Sherwood?” her 16-year-old sister said from across the table. “Is it Sherwood or Shearwood, like the forest?”
“Shearwood?” I asked, laughing. “There’s no Shearwood Forest! It’s Sherwood!”
“Well, some may say Sherwood and some say Shearwood,” 16 said imperiously.
Her dad snorted. “No one says Shearwood,” he laughed.
“How do you know?” she challenged him.
“How do you not know?!” I burst in incredulously. “In the history of Robin Hood, no one has ever called it Shearwood Forest! I mean, are you kidding?!”
“Well, it was a long time ago,” she said dismissively, “so I guess we’ll never know for sure.”
And with that, the table fell silent. Because really, what more was there to say?
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.