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"Why
Are Things The Way They Are?"
Topic: Why
During my junior year in high school, Mr. Reynolds,
my English teacher, handed each student a list of
thoughts or statements written by other students,
then gave us a creative writing assignment based
on one of those thoughts. At 17, I was beginning to
wonder about many things, so I chose the statement,
"I wonder why things are the way they are?"
That night, I wrote down in the form of a story all the
questions that puzzled me about life. I realized that
many of them were hard to answer, and perhaps
others could not be answered at all. When I turned in
my paper, I was afraid that I might fail the assignment
because I had not answered the question, "I wonder
why things are the way they are?" I had no answers.
I had only written questions.
The next day Mr. Reynolds called me to the front of
the class and asked me to read my story for the
other students. He handed me my paper and sat
down in the back of the room. The class became
quiet as I began to read my story:
Mommie, why are the roses red?
Mommie, why is the grass green and the sky blue?
Why does a spider have a web and not a house?
Daddy, why can't I play in your toolbox?
Teacher, why do I have to read?
Mother, why can't I wear lipstick to the dance?
Daddy, why can't I stay out until 12:00? The other
kids are.
Mother, why do you hate me?
Daddy, why don't the boys like me?
Why do I have to be so skinny?
Why do I have braces and wear glasses?
Why do I have to be 16?
Mom, why do I have to graduate?
Dad, why do I have to grow up?
Mom, Dad, why do I have to leave?
Mom, why don't you write more often?
Dad, why do I miss my old friends?
Dad, why do you love me so much?
Dad, why do you spoil me?
Your little girl is growing up.
Mom, why don't you visit?
Mom, why is it hard to make new friends?
Dad, why do I miss being at home?
Dad, why does my heart skip a beat when he looks
in my eyes?
Mom, why do my legs tremble when I hear his voice?
Mother, why is being "in love" the greatest feeling in
the world?
Daddy, why don't you like to be called "Gramps?"
Mother, why do my baby's tiny fingers cling so
tightly to mine?
Mother, why do they have to grow up?
Daddy, why do they have to leave?
Why do I have to be called "Grannie"?
Mommie, Daddy, why did you have to leave me?
I need you.
Why did my youth slip past me?
Why does my face show every smile that I have
ever given to a friend or a stranger?
Why does my hair glisten a shiny silver?
Why do my hands quiver when I bend to pick a flower?
Why, G-d, are the roses red?
(Author Unknown)