Albert Einstein, the man whose name is synonymous with genius, relativity, and wild hair, had a lesser-known hobby: answering letters from children. While he spent his days unraveling the mysteries of the universe, he somehow found time to respond to questions like, “Do scientists pray?” and “Why is your hair so messy?” with a mix of wit, warmth, and genuine enthusiasm. Turns out, even a theoretical physicist couldn’t resist the charm of a child’s unfiltered curiosity.
Einstein received mountains of fan mail during his lifetime, much of it from adults seeking advice or explanations of his work. But tucked among those letters were gems from kids—questions about homework, requests for autographs, and even concerns about his iconic hairstyle. Rather than brushing them off, Einstein often replied with thoughtful, playful answers. In 1936, a sixth-grade student named Phyllis wrote to ask whether scientists pray. Einstein responded in elegant cursive, explaining that science and religion could coexist, but “science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.” Not bad for a homework inquiry.
Then there’s the case of a South African girl who boldly asked Einstein to send her a lock of his hair. Instead of dismissing the request, he politely declined, joking that his hair was “not as valuable as you might think.” (One can only imagine the auction prices today.) Another young fan, a 15-year-old from New York, wrote to him for help with a school essay on “what makes a great scientist.” Einstein’s advice? Stay curious, avoid blind conformity, and “never lose a holy curiosity.” He even signed off with a doodle of his face sticking out its tongue—proof that genius and goofiness aren’t mutually exclusive.
Why did Einstein, a man with a brain perpetually occupied by spacetime and quantum theory, bother with kids’ letters? Part of it was his belief in education and nurturing young minds. He saw curiosity as the engine of progress and treated children’s questions with the same seriousness as those from fellow physicists. Plus, let’s be honest—answering a child’s letter about ducks (yes, someone asked him why ducks paddle in water) was probably a welcome break from explaining general relativity for the thousandth time.
Of course, Einstein wasn’t always the sole pen pal. His secretary, Helen Dukas, helped manage his correspondence. But he made a point to personally reply to many children, often using their questions as a springboard to simplify his ideas. When a young boy wrote asking how to become a scientist, Einstein advised him to “play with physics” and “never stop asking why.” It’s a refreshing reminder that behind the equations and the iconic frizzy hair was a man who believed even the smallest minds could grasp the biggest ideas.
Einstein’s penchant for replying to kids wasn’t just quirky—it was prophetic. Today, his letters to children are celebrated as glimpses into his humanity. They show a Nobel laureate who didn’t take himself too seriously, who valued imagination over rote learning, and who, despite his towering intellect, never lost touch with the wonder of a child’s perspective. So, the next time a kid asks you an absurdly big question, take a page from Einstein’s playbook: answer it. Who knows? You might just inspire the next great thinker. Or at least get a good laugh about ducks.
