are you having fun yet?

Did you have any fun?” I ask zealously, on the way home from xyz activity.
I'm in good company. After all, Dr. Seuss's super fun cat also likes to ask this question.
However, when Emmanuel recently took to protesting “I'm not having any fun” during a spanking, I began questioning the question.
“The purpose of life isn't to have fun” I go on to explain (just before taking him to the park, exhorting him to “Have fun!”).
It is hard in our culture of perpetual fun to see the problem that “having fun” affords.
Growing up, I never remember my dad asking me the question that now dominates my parenthood. Instead, upon my return from xyz activity, he asked “Were you good?”
As a teenager, this exhortation to “be good” urked me. My fun-loving self didn't very much want to be bogged down by the command of virtue. But those haunting words followed me during my teen years from this activity to that one, and in essence, kept me good.
Now, as a parent, I think there is no greater question to be asked. No greater exhortation.
So, after a raucous flying of kites in the house, the central question marking my motherhood shall not be “Did you have any fun?” but rather, “Were you good?”
Now, what would you say if your mother asked you?!