CHLOE’S STORY - 1

CHLOE’S STORY - 1


                                              This story begins 12 years ago, when my daughter, Chloe, was 6 years old. Of course, like any parent I could gush about my child all day, but for the topic at hand there‟s only one thing you need to know about her at that age. I‟ve told many friends this, and I‟ll tell it to you now in the same words: If there were an award for the most curious 6 year old in the world, she would have been a shoe in as a finalist…if not the grand champion.
This was a matter of pride for me, but it had its downsides at times. I had to keep an extra close eye on her when we went out in public because she‟d constantly walk through doors marked “PRIVATE,” talk to strangers, lift up our friend‟s couch cushions to see what had been dropped between them, and on a few occasions, open up enticing looking packages at the grocery store to see what was inside.
To Chloe, finding out something new about this great big, mysterious world we live in was as exciting as finding a buried treasure chest, but with her it wasn‟t enough just to discover something new. She wanted to understand it. One of her favorite games was to ask me a question, and as soon as I‟d given my answer she‟d ask, “Why?” Then after I‟d explained why she‟d automatically ask, “Why?” again, and the inquisition would continue like that until I ran out of answers or backed myself into a circular statement…at which point she would double over in laughter.
In retrospect I‟ve come to believe that based on her usual behavior the next part of the story was probably inevitable. If it hadn‟t happened when it did it I imagine it would have happened eventually, but as it stands, it happened in early spring when she was 6.
April had arrived, and it was finally warm enough to escape from the long months of house arrest winter had sentenced us to. So I took Chloe to the park at the edge of our neighborhood to play outside.
I wasn‟t surprised at all when she spent the bulk of her time on the playground poking the newly budding plants and watching butterflies gather nectar instead of dangling from the monkey bars with the other girls, and as I watched her exploring it got me sentimental about the days of my childhood when I found so much awe in the simplest, most ordinary expressions of nature. So I was daydreaming a little when Chloe approached me with that look on her face children make when they‟re imitating adults being serious.
“Dad?” She said with the tone my wife uses when I‟m in trouble.
“What is it, honey?” I replied absent mindedly.
“I give up.” She shouted, throwing her hands in the air and letting them fall back down slapping her sides.
“Are you giving up playing?” Suspecting that‟s not where she was going with this.
Without acknowledging that I‟d said anything she went on, “I don‟t get it. What‟s everybody doing?”
“What do you mean, honey?” Now I was sure had no idea where the conversation was going now.
“Well, Mr. Tree grows just like Mr. Sky Scraper. Mr. Butterfly works just like you. And Mr. and Mrs. Bird feed their kids just like people so their kids can grow up big and strong and have kids of their own. I mean, everybody‟s doing something. So…I mean…You know? What for?”