Dating : Questions

A Short story on Questions and Relationships.

I was six years old when I asked my father the first question which I remember: Where do insects come from?

I was perplexed by the cockroaches and ants. They invaded our house from the day I remember, the ants flooding the secluded corners of the kitchen and the wardrobe, the cockroaches roaming about carelessly, exploring and capturing our house.

So was born the question I asked my father. He, always a person to eagerly answer a question out of curiosity, promptly answered.

The factual answer he gave me was in no way satisfactory. I had imagined kingdoms of tiny creatures residing in our house, we being oblivious of their presence. But that was not the answer.

So began my questions to my father. He always welcomed them, answering them to his pleasure.

We formed a bond that way.

I was thirteen years old when I first Googled a question. A lot had happened in the seven year gap. I had grown, for one part, and my father had upgraded for his part. He was promoted to a higher position in his company.

How one may perceive the last point depends on one’s viewpoint. For him, it was a positive point: he went to a higher status, brought a car and a phone. Also, by the next year, he brought an iPad.

But for me, well…

I grew, too. I went to higher classes, learned a lot of new things. And with that came questions. I had a lot of questions.

When I went to ask the aforementioned questions to him, he was not the patient person I knew anymore. He hardly got any time off, and didn’t want to be bombarded with questions.

So, he taught me a new thing. Whenever I wanted to know the answer to a question, I was to Google it.

So. I was thirteen when I Googled a question: How was the universe created?

The intellectual journey I made can be plain to the naked eye. And the answers Google presented me was admirable.

With Google, Youtube, Quora to guide me, I was invincible. In a sense, I had upgraded too, considering I was now finding answers to the questions my father did not know the answer to.

I did not know it back then, but a slight crack in the bond between me and my father began there.

My life continued, passing junior school and entering high school. I was not a prodigy, but got good grades.

I did not bother my father with questions further. Whenever I did bother him, he was at a loss of an answer, considering the questions were from my syllabus.

So I learned to consult Google, my friends and professionals in that particular area of doubt. They provided splendid answers.

I became a software engineer, and, to some extent, became an expert myself. I was always proud when I would answer any questions from my juniors.

Maybe this was why my father loved questions so much…

My father had retired, and was staying home. I was transferred to Singapore, and we video called twice a week.

Maybe he was sad, maybe he was lonely, but I could not decipher his face in two hours of a week. Neither he nor I called more than that.

One day, while discussing matters with my father, a disagreement rose between us.

Anger, our mortal enemy, forced me to ask : When have you ever answered my questions?

My father broke down, crying. Amid sobs, he said: That was the first question you’ve ever asked me in years, decades.

I was stunned.

I knew not what to think or say.

My father did not give the opportunity to. He cut the call. He did not call the second time that week.

His statement put my life on standby. I rethought every question I ever had, and they were all answered by Google or experts.

My bond with my father broke over the years, withering away slowly.

Questions and answers are what make us humans. We must ask and get the answers.

I had begun to underestimate my father. He was my father. He knows the answers to my questions.

He is the hero I imagined when I was small. He is the SuperAnswerer.

I wanted to ask him the questions. Many many of them. He was to answer me, because no one can, not even Google.

The Question List starts with:

How are you, father?

I am sorry. Will you forgive me?