Big Question

Recently while waiting in the car before the drive to school my daughter, Mona, had a question.

Often it takes Mona a while to say what she wants to say.  There is usually a prelude along the lines of "Mom?  Well, mom.... So, mom, can I ask, well there's...  Uh, mom?  Mom, can I ask you a question?"  She strings fragments of thoughts together in a way where it's hard to tell if she's stalling because she's unsure where she's going yet, or if she's nervous about the reaction she will get when the sentence is finished.  Ian and I learned years ago not to interrupt her when we think we know what she's getting at because she becomes deeply offended.  So we wait.  It can be a long time to get to the end of a question or story, but it's always worth it to hear it with Mona's unique (if halting) construction.

However, the other day, after the drawn out opening of "Mom?" etc., followed by a disclaimer that her question was probably silly, she asked quite simply, "Why are we here?"

"Do you mean here in Milwaukee?  Or are you asking why do we exist?" I tried to clarify.

"Yeah, why is there anything?  What's the point?"