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Why?
Why
am I writing this column? Because I promised that I would
and it’s due, uh, yesterday. Why? Because I do it every two
weeks. Why? Because I get a thrill out of the possibility
that I might accidentally inspire someome to think, laugh,
or even act on occasion. Why? Uh, because I have the mysterious
ego common to all writers. Why?
The astute among you may be surmising right about now that
my daughter has entered one of the famous “why” periods. It
is, as all reports promised it to be, incredibly impressive
in its suddenness and its endurance. Since we are a household
of nerds and default to gamely continuing to answer as long
as we can (circumstances and brain cells permitting) we frequently
find ourselves in pretty deep. After all, from “Why is it
nap time?” to explaining the earth’s rotation is only three
or four short jumps at most. (Happily we have cousins in Singapore
right now, which helps to put a face, as it were, on “the
other side of the world where it’s day/night time now.”)
Not that it’s all high-flying early education. The power of
why is that it can be applied to anything: “I want crackers.”
“OK, here.” “Why you give I crackers?”
Or, in perhaps its purest form: “Eh. [very short pause] Why
I say ‘Eh?’ ” (I suppose if you wanted to, you could call
these explorations into cause, effect, and motivation.)
It’s maddening, of course, but also enlightening. What does
it mean about my frame of mind that some days I’m inclined
to tell her I have to go work because we need money, and other
days because there are interesting things I need to do? What
do I say to the question “Why am I alive?” How do I answer
the question “Why you my mommy?” in a way that’s inclusive
of her adopted friends (i.e. not just “because you were in
my belly”)?
I may seem to be overthinking this a little (that would be
a shocker), but if you’re going to answer a toddler at all,
I’ve learned the hard way it’s wise to figure you’re going
to be listened to when you least expect it. Today at lunch
my daughter overheard her mama, in the process of wondering
about how it works to run for vice president with a four-month-old
baby, say the phrase “throw a baby in day care.” She looked
up from her bowl of food and instantly needed a clarification
and reassurance that no babies were actually being thrown
anywhere.
Which is to say, most of these questions don’t keep me up
at night or anything, but in general when it comes to answering
the abstract ones, I’d usually rather stall than come up with
something I’ll have to totally contradict later. And that
becomes quite the introspective exercise.
Somehow the archetypical why-asking child in my head usually
asked tricky scientific questions (“Why is the sky blue?”),
veering occasionally into the realm of “religious” (“What
happens to people after they die?”).
Though I clearly should have, I didn’t really expect so many
questions that force me to put a point on my own values or
my own take on societal customs. They’re trickier than I expected.
“Why we a family?” “Why you love I?” “Why I need clothes outside?”
I have recently covered with her: not hurting people, not
wasting food or water, why people get tired, why it’s nice
to spend time outside in the woods sometimes, why most people
don’t like to spend all their time alone, and approximately
4,000 other subjects. At my more sleep deprived, I find myself
tempted to organize an endurance bout between my daughter
and recalcitrant bureaucrats or “customer service” reps:
“No.”
“Why?” “Because it’s our policy.” “Why?” “Because it’s our
policy.” “Why?” First one to deviate or get incoherently cranky
loses.
Or maybe that’s a waste of an incredible amount of power.
The “why” stream keeps me on my toes enough that maybe we
should institute kids in their why phases as adjunct presidential
debate moderators. After each question and the first-blush
answer, the kids would get to keep asking “why” until they
and/or the audience was satisfied.
“We’ve
won in Iraq.”
“Why?”
“Because
I said so.”
“Why?”
“Because
we’ve killed a lot of people.”
“Why?”
“Because
they hate America and freedom.”
“Why?”
“Because
they do.”
“Why?”
And so on.
In e. e. cummings’s fairy tale “The Old Man Who Said ‘Why,’
” a man who persists in asking “why” of a fairy, who quickly
gets sick of him, gets younger every time he asks it. Perhaps
a good round of “why” could help us all ward off the aging
effects of following American politics.
—Miriam
Axel-Lute
www.mjoy.org
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