When was the last time you had a difficult assignment? They may come up at work on occasion but if we are in school, we might feel as if we have such an assignment every day. Quite obviously, however, some of those assignments are going to be more difficult than others and the girl in this story received of assignment in English class that was overwhelming. When you have something in front of you like this, you have two choices. You can either throw up your hands and give up or you can put your best foot forward and do something amazing. She chose the latter.
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 the paper and sat down in the back of the room. The class became quiet as I began to read my story:
“Mommy, Daddy … Why?
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”?
Mommy, 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, God, are the roses red?
At the conclusion of my story, my eyes locked with Mr. Reynolds’s eyes, and I saw a tear slowly sliding down his cheek. It was then that I realized that life is not always based on the answers we receive, but also on the questions that we ask.”
Source: Tickld