Children are naturally curious, some more than others. And there are a few who never seem to run out of questions to ask. My daughter, Heather, was the Champion Questioner. Some questions were innocent and would bring a smile to my face. Some questions were more likely to bring about a life threatening stroke.
One cold, snowy, winter day in Michigan, we were hurrying into the grocery store. The wind was wicked, we had to park in the 'lower 40' of the store parking lot, and I had a death grip on Heather's hand. As I practically dragged her little 5 year-old body along past all the empty handicapped parking spaces, she would plant her feet and come to a dead stop asking, "Mommy, why didn't we park here? It's lots closer."
"Because it's a handicap space." I said and with an even firmer grip, urged her on, trying desperately to quicken the pace.
Once we were finally inside the warm walls of the grocery store and staring down the first aisle, Heather asked again about those empty parking spaces, "Tell me again Mommy. Why couldn't we park in those closer spaces?"
"Because they're handicap spaces, Heather."
Then it came, the long drawn out, almost but not quite, whinny voice, "But Mommmmy, what does a handicap car look like?"
That is a questions that brought a smile, "It's not the car that's handicapped, Heather, it's the person that drives the car. If the PERSON is handicapped they get to park closer."
To which, she shrugged her shoulders, and in an exasperated voiced said, "Well, why didn't you said so in the first place."
Other questions were more 'jolting', however. Her dad and I were sitting in the family room one evening, each with a section of the newspaper. It was quiet, it was peaceful, but not for long.
Into the room bounds Heather and up onto the couch next to me, "Mom, Mom, Mom." (Every child knows that Moms don't answer unless you say their name at least 3 times in a row.)
"Yes Heather." as I continue to read the article that had caught my attention.
"I have a question."
"Ok, Heather," I put down the paper, knowing I may never finish that article, "what do you want to know?"
"What is a blow job?"
I think my husband suffered a small convulsion because out of the corner of my eye, I saw the newspaper that he held in front of his face tremble but to give him credit, he never lowered it an inch and stayed safely behind that flimsy barrier.
When I could breathe, I looked at our kindergartener and said, "Why would you want to know that, Heather?"
"Because, Mom, Jennifer went to the beauty shop and she got a blow job and her hair looks really cute so I want to know what it is so you can take me to the beauty shop and get a blow job for me too."
When she paused, I said, "I think you mean Blow Dry, don't you?"
"Yeah, isn't that what I said? That's what I want .. A blow dry. What is it? Can I get one? Can I Mom?"
"A BLOW DRY just means that the beautician uses a blow dryer to dry your hair after she's washed it. And yes, you can have a BLOW DRY the next time we go."
That brought about a big hug and off she dashed, temporarily on to some other quest.
When I was sure she couldn't hear, I asked my husband, "Honey, are you still alive and well over there hiding safely behind your newspaper?"
All I heard was a grunt .....
COWARD!
He's getting the next question!
© copyright Donna Hale Chandler
DONNA HALE CHANDLER
Author of:
LIFE HAPPENS (My Story)
Co-Author of:
THE HINTS BOOKS
