The Age of Why

There is an age— somewhere between three and five— when a child discovers the most powerful word in any language: why? Why is the sky blue? Why do dogs bark? Why do we have to sleep? Why do people die? Why is that man sad? Why can't I fly? Why is water wet? Each question is a door opened by someone who doesn't yet know that most adults stopped opening doors years ago. I watched my daughter in the grocery store ask the cashier why she had a sticker on her name tag. The cashier paused. Looked at the sticker. A small rainbow. And said: because it reminds me to smile. My daughter nodded as if this were the most reasonable thing she'd heard all day. Because it was. Children at this age are not asking to be taught. They are asking to be taken seriously. And the difference between the two is the difference between a teacher and a companion. I don't have the answers. Most of the time I Google them while pretending to already know. But the asking— the beautiful, relentless, exhausting, magnificent asking— is the thing I never want them to outgrow. Because the day a child stops asking why is the day they start accepting things the way they are. And the way things are has never been good enough.