“Why, Mama? Why?” Parents of young children know this question well. In fact, most of us are peppered with it all day long. Aaa-choo! But then, those children grow, and as they do, their “why’s” seem to do the opposite. And my only response is . . . why?
A few months ago, we had a new family up for dinner. I had already become fast friends with the mom over a women’s retreat weekend and was hopeful that the hubbies would hit it off and seal that whole family-friends-package-deal-thing. (Is it just me, or does this sometimes feel like winning the friend lottery?) Anway, there we all were, on a glorious fall color hike together before dinner; a pack of beautiful kids leading the way. We hadn’t gone far when my friend’s hubby (let’s call him Drew) just about stopped me dead on the trail.
The couple’s teenage son and I had been bonding over the shared opinion that The Hobbit movie was horribly inferior to the book when Drew suddenly joined in and asked, “why do you feel that way? Why do you think the book is so much better?” He wasn’t challenging me; he was merely asking me to support my opinion. It was such a simple question, yet it took me completely by surprise. I lost my words for a moment. Drew didn’t retract the question. He waited for my answer, and the whole hiking party became quiet. With something like a liberated smile, I plunged forward into my list of reasons to condemn the cinematic Hobbit. Drew and his son’s eyes lit up, as if they had hoped I had some dragon’s fire buried deep away. In a few moments we were all laughing over the preposterousness of my impassioned rant (I despise the unnecessary inflation of The Pale Orc in case you want know) and the conversations and friendly debates flowed on.
Why had this man’s question caught me so off-guard? I realized later on it was because this posing of “why” has become an uncommon conversation practice among adults, at least from my vantage point. I find that I’m asked a fair amount of “what” and “do” questions, but rarely an emboldened WHY anymore. That is, other than from the children that breathe life into my days. I think I might sneeze again.
Insatiable curiosity is both exhausting and refreshing in an apathetic world –like a blade of grass defiantly poking through a desert crust.
When our children crane their heads up to me in a window-to-the-soul why, I smile —albeit weakly sometimes— because daring to ask why is what makes us more than mere flesh and bones.
“Why” reveals an appetite for truth, meaning, and connection.
“Why” is a quest for more.
Asking why shouldn’t be age-exclusive. Why should young children have the largest stock holds in asking “why”? Is it just that children genuinely know less, or have collected fewer answers during their little fistful of years? Or is it more that their humanity is still fresh and undiluted? Has “why” simply not been squeezed or beaten or drained out of them yet?
Perhaps we simply begin life more alive and then slowly become deadened to wonderlust (it’s not a word but it should be) as the world attempts to bleach avidity.
Perhaps the reactions received from a childhood of “whys” slowly, pebble by pebble, stone by stone, boulder by boulder, build a dam across the reservoir of wonder.
Deep down, I think we all have that childlike desire to ask why. But many of us have learned over time to censor our curiosity. Or worse, maybe as we grow and see more and more of the world, we gradually become afraid to ask why. Questions are dangerous! They get us into trouble —with parents, teachers, friends, colleagues. Or perhaps we find the answers themselves troubling. Maybe we become weary of the world. I know I do sometimes. But not asking questions is far more dangerous and troublesome than braving a touch of annoyance or confrontation, or —gulp— the truth!
Neglecting to ask “why” means putting a cork on curiosity.
Neglecting to answer “why” means growing numb to our purpose.
Neglecting “why” may even mean we’ve yet to discover our purpose.
This aversion to asking “why” to someone’s face (the internet doesn’t count in my book) is especially true when it comes to “controversial” topics such as, you guessed it . . . homeschooling. For these kinds of topics, “what” and “do” questions rule the day.
“Do you like homeschooling?”
“What curriculum do you use?”
“Do you plan to homeschool all the way through?”
I don’t know if I’ve ever been asked WHY we chose to homeschool or why we continue to choose it year after year. The closest anyone ever gets is “what made you decide to homeschool?” which is commendable but not quite as audacious. It seems to me that our culture has painted “why” as somehow very personal and intrusive. We feel we are prying if we ask it, and we feel put on the spot when others ask it of us. “Why” can put us on the defensive as well, even when we’re the ones posing the question!
Why is that? Why does “why” sometimes have the power to make us feel uneasy? Is it, perhaps, because we don’t know, or like, or believe our own answer? Are we worried we won’t agree with someone else’s “why,” or worse, that we will agree with it? Do we not want to face our own answers or lack thereof? Are we choosing an ignorance-is-bliss approach to our lives and that of raising our children? If so . . . why?
Post 2020, the cultural climate seems now to put questions about education on the same taboo list as politics, nutrition, and religion. “Why” is just asking for controversy on steroids.
Yet, I believe “why” to be the most crucial question we can ask ourselves and others as to the education choices for our children. That is, if we really want to get to the heart of things . . . which maybe we don’t.
Public education or private?
Standard or unconventional learning methods?
Traditional schooling or homeschooling?
Classical education or unschooling?
What polarizing questions these have become, long before we ever even pose a pert little “why”!
To me, the second most danger we face in not asking “why” (the first being a separation from our purpose) is that we humans are assumptive creatures. We make a habit of filling in one another’s blanks. Perhaps we think we know why, and we just insert that answer for ourselves. And, by the way, it’s a two-way street.
Instead of asking “why have you chosen to send your kids to school?” some of us may fill in the “why” for ourselves.
“Because they don’t want to stay home with their kids all day.”
Or “because they can’t be bothered.”
Or “because they couldn’t handle it.”
Or “they must be dependent on two incomes.”
Similarly, instead of asking “why have you chosen to homeschool your kids?” some may fill in those blanks also.
“Because they are elitist.”
Or “because they want to shelter and indoctrinate their children.”
Or “because they think they are better than the system.”
Or my personal favorite, “homeschool parents are driven by fear.”
We would all be wise to nip this habit in the bud. As my dad always says: “You know what they say about assuming? Don’t.”
Judging blind is poison to the soul. When our imagined answers (to questions we didn’t ask) are biting, we need to ask ourselves, yet again, “why?” Why are we often so quick to wag that finger and assume the worst? We must remember, by our standard of measure it will be measured to us! (Matthew 7:1-3)
Methinks we doth deflect too much at any rate. Whether any of the above statements in regard to homeschooling or traditional schooling are true in a case-by-case scenario can never be determined unless we dare to ask “why,” and then dare to accept, ponder, or challenge that “why.” And our own answers in turn can never be fleshed out, reevaluated, or at peace with themselves until we dare to ask ourselves “why” also. The only thing we risk is having to face the truth.
So Jesus said to the Jews who had believed him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” John 8:31-32 ESV
If you’ve missed OUR WHY, here it is: The #1 Reason Why We Homeschool! And let me ask you as well! Why have you decided to educate your kids the way you do? Comment below 🙂
Thank you for reading and daring to ask and answer “why” today!
Love ~Candace Arden~
