In sixth grade, my last English assignment of the year was to write an autobiography. We had just read one (totally don't remember which because I didn't actually read it), but inspired nonetheless I was asked to put personal memories and milestones to paper.
Back then, my writing was as dramatic as my presence on stage. While my classmates began their autobiographies with sentences like, 'I live on number 17 Cherry Tree Lane,' 'I'm the eldest of five.' or simply, 'life is good.;I went deep with my entrance. I can still remember every word of that first paragraph.
'Words can mean a lot. Especially to me. Sometimes they're big words that have never been heard by anyone before. And sometimes they're small words. Like why. A word that carries so much meaning and so many questions. Why am I here?'
Centered around the question of why, I remember I couldn't stop writing. I turned in the longest autobiography in the class. I titled it, 'Memories of One's Life.' (I was the One.) My teacher loved it. She asked me to read it at a gathering of old folks in Barnes and Nobles several weeks later. They seemed disinterested. I got an A in the class. Again, never the read the book(s.)
***
Mary learned a new word recently. Why. And while I love the question and her tireless curiosity, I've grown tired of answering it. At work, there's a rule of four or five whys. I forget how many. But after a certain threshold, you're supposed to get to the greater truth. Ah ... That's what we're actually solving for. The questioner loves the glory of pinpointing the nugget you didn't know. The respondent hopes they stop at three.
While sweeping up the glitter, or rather Pixie Dust, that has provided an unnatural effervescence around our house the past couple of days, I thought about all the questions starting with why Mary asked this weekend.
Why are the leaves falling?
Why can't I throw the leaves?
Why can't I throw the leaves at Bobby?
Why can't I bring the leaves home?
Why do I have to wear my coat?
Because it's really cold!
Why are we going to get pumpkins?
Why can't I get three, four, FIVE pumpkins? (holding up all of her little fingers.)
Why can't I push the cart?
Why can't I bring the pumpkins to Church?
Why do I have to wear my coat?
Because we don't live in California.
Why are those kids coming to our house?
Why are they dressed up like that?
Why do you have to get a picture?
Why do I have to be nice to Bobby?
Why do I have to wear my coat to go outside?
Because everyone else is!
Why is that house so spooky?
Why is that skeleton mad?
Why is that little boy dressed like a Mummy?
Why can't I eat all my candy?
Why can't I eat another chocolate?
Why do I have to wear my coat?
Because I said so. THE END.
As much as I love the question and the truth seeking little girl I'm raising, answering it perpetually is difficult. And I've got to say, I found myself stumped quite a few times this weekend.
Why does it have to get dark now?
Because it's that time of year.
Why is that Daddy going away?
Because he has to.
Why is that Mommy sad?
Because honey.
Are those kids going to be okay?
Yeah ... they are.
When 'I said so' runs its course, the only answer left, other than I don't know, is because. And as a Mom who's supposed to have the answer, because has to suffice. Just because, and that's all I know. Life is complicated and confusing and short. Too short. So maybe three whys is enough. And the rest is better left to a because ... He says so.
Lo.
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