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Wish Someone Had Told Me

Why, Why, Why A Vexing Three-Letter Word

     The conversations usually go like this:
    Me: “OK, princess. Let’s get ready to go.”
    Her: “Why I have to get ready to go?”
    Me: “Because we have to leave.”
    Her: “Why we have to leave?”
    Me: “Because our time here is done.”
    Her: “Why is our time here done?”
    Me: “Because we have to go home.”
    Her: “Why we have to go home?”
    Me: “Because we have to eat dinner.”
    Her: “Why we have to eat dinner?”
    This is about the point where my wife has to take over the conversation, because my patience is thinner than Angelina Jolie. The father in me loves the persistence. The male in me is tormented by the interrogation.
    As a journalist, I’ve always loved the word why. But my 4-year-old is making me despise it. She is relentless with it. It comes out like rapid fire. Sometimes it’s genuine curiosity. Sometimes, it’s a whiny disapproval. Other times, it’s an obvious stall tactic so she can keep coloring.
    I wish someone had told me I would have to answer the same question over and over ... and over and over. Everything is why.
Why. Why. Why.
    Why we getting off the freeway?
    Why do I have to wear this?
    Why can’t I have this?
    Sometimes, before my wife and I can get the words out, she’s asking why. It was cute at first. Those beady eyes, beaming with wonder. That nasally voice. The crinkles of curiosity in her forehead. But the older she gets, the quicker that three-letter word comes out, and so went the cuteness.
    It doesn’t bother me when she asks a genuine question, which she does from time to time. Most often, though, I just think she’s being bratty. I think she figured out it irritates me, so she keeps asking, tap dancing on my nerves.
    Why you cooking that?
    Why I have to be quiet?
    Why you say stop asking me why?
    As usual, I am the one who has to change. My wife doesn’t like when I fall back on the “because I said so” answer. She said it’s important that we give actual answers to our curious child. Also, a friend of the family (who boasts seven grandchildren) told us our daughter was probing deeper, searching for a better understanding.
    They might be right.
    The Child Development journal, in November 2009, revealed similar conclusions by scientists. Their research, which focused on 2 to 5 year olds, showed a child’s endless quest for why is an attempt at learning the truth. The lead researcher of the study, Brandy Frazier of the University of Michigan, suggested today’s children are more aggressive about their curiosity.
    “It shows she’s engaged and exploring,” says Corrina Calica, director of the spanking new Las Positas College Child Development Center. “It shows that a child is actively participating in her own learning. She wants answers that will stretch her mind. She wants answers that make her think beyond her world.”
    I buy that. Since her little mind is still developing, it makes sense she would have an abundant list of questions. Her quest for knowledge is encouraging, easing my persistent anxiety about her development. Such even makes me proud, knowing I may have a junior reporter on my hands.
    However, I’m not convinced all her questions are spawned from a craving for higher learning. Especially when she just says why.
    Tell her it’s time to go to bed. Why? Tell her it’s time for dinner. Why? Tell her she’s not supposed to eat candy off the ground or dole out random hugs to strangers in the mall. Why? Call it my ego, but sometimes it sounds like her way of saying “who the heck are you?”
    Fortunately, I’ve figured out a way to deal better with the consistent stream of whys. I’ve learned to turn it around on her. Whenever it is clear she’s on one of her why binges, I interrupt with a why of my own.
    Her response is usually the same. She breaks her 1,000-watt smile. She turns her palms upside down, shrugs her shoulders and, in the cutest voice ever, says, “I don’t know.”
    Of course, the reporter in me — nor the father scorned — will not allow me to stop there. I usually have a small bit of revenge to exact, in the form of one last question.
     “Why don’t you know?”