Last night I sat with friends and family around a bonfire, watching the fireworks that one of my mates was setting off. Sad to think that in a year or less such displays will probably be banned. Another prime example of government sucking away responsibility and freedom. But no one (not even I) was pondering such things at the time. There was, however, at least one person who was doing enough pondering for the whole group - not surprisingly, a young child. She was sitting beside me for part of the evening and during that time she didn't once cease to pepper me with questions.
Why is it dark? Because it's night time. But why is it night? Well, because the sun's gone. Where did it go? Um, you see where the sky meets the city? Yeah. The sun's gone over that line and underneath us. How come I can't see it? Uh well, because it's, ah, because the ground gets in the way.
This kid wasn't asking questions to be annoying or just for the hang of it - she really wanted to know the answers. I was the same at her age. I exhausted my parents with questions until I came to the stage where most of the time they didn't know the answers. So I stopped asking. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain I probably assumed that if Mom or Dad didn't know, no one would. It's taken years to win back a mere portion of my native curiosity - and it can be safely assumed that I'll never regain what I once had. But a mere portion, well stewarded, is enough. Now I ponder and question, poke and prod; it's not relaxing and it's rarely comfortable, but it is fulfilling. It feels as if you've gained, not a sixth sense, but something that makes the other five worth having.
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