“I was beginning to see that the greatest difference between adults and children was that they had to provide answers whereas we could just ask questions. Imagine having to know everything. It felt like a burden I couldn’t imagine ever wanting. Also, answers felt so finite; they left no possibility of a surprise ending—they closed the door that a question had opened. I really liked asking questions and always enjoyed the conversations they elicited more than the answer. I would have liked to have had the conversation with my father about why he needed to send me away. I didn’t need to know the actual reason per se, I just wanted to hear the question out loud and see what he did with it. Maybe he had some questions of his own, maybe if he asked a few more of them out loud, the questions themselves would interrogate the reality, giving it context and the space to settle. Maybe then he wouldn’t have had to come up with answers that left both of us so far away from each other.”