When I was a child, I asked a lot of questions. Which is a habit every child tends to indulge in. However, as children get older, questions become less and less acceptable. I was outraged when I was informed of this news. I questioned why any person should be ashamed of asking a simple question, regardless of age. I still do not know, for I was shut down before I could even get the answer to that question. 
    When I asked how a steering wheel can make a car turn, grown-ups would say, "I don’t have time for your useless curiosity, look it up on the computer.” 
    Whenever I asked where starfish came from, grown-ups would respond, “You’re learning about these things in your science class aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be paying more attention?” 
Whenever I asked how much detergent to put into the washer to clean my laundry, grown-ups would scowl, “You should know this by now, you’re old enough.” 
    So many important questions, only for them to remain unanswered and above all, discouraged. In fact, I still do not know how a steering wheel works. I do not know where starfish came from., and I still am not completely sure how much detergent I should be putting into the washer to wash my clothes. 
    Around the time when I was having this crisis, my mother and stepfather took me to an art museum. Unfortunately for my parents, each art piece brought up new questions about elephants in Africa, social anxiety, and erosion. However, I managed to keep my mouth shut for most of the visit. We stumbled across one room where artists stood next to their pieces explaining their inspiration. We went over to look at some classical paintings, like what the Romans would have painted. 
    “Mom?”, I looked up to my mother, tugging at her coat. 
    Her eyes were glued to the artist. I knew I shouldn’t ask a question. I knew I should let her listen to the artist. But I couldn’t help it, my question was in the direst need of answering. I was like a soda can and all the fizzy fizzled pop inside of me was being shaken by all the art pieces adorned with golden picture frames. I was about to explode. I figured I would let one slide. Slowly crack open the can with a sound like,“tssst”. It sounded like that in my head but to everyone around me it sounded like: 
    “How big were the swords the gladiators had?”, I started to wonder what flavorful soda pop sprayed all over my mother. Cherry Soda? Maybe Root Beer? 
She darted her eyes down towards me. “I’m trying to listen to the artist, please be respectful and keep the questions to a minimum.”  
    Her eyes spoke a special sternness, so vivid, so clear. Her eyes never looked so brown, dark and rigid as in that moment. I already kept my questions to a minimum. I was bursting at the seams with questions. All the beautiful pieces of art were simultaneously answering my questions while constructing new ones. 
    I decided to separate myself from my parents. I walked over to another corner of the room. 
 A man sat on the floor surrounded by beads, string, wires, old toys, feathers, and glitter. On his nose perched large spectacles glistening with an emerald glow. The spectacles in question made his eyes look large and unproportionate, like a fly's. His spikey ice-tipped hair toppled onto his head like vanilla ice cream on a sugar cone. His apron was covered in a myriad of colorful paints and glitter. A human disco ball I should say. 
     He looked up to me with his big buggy eyes. We both blinked. Silence. Suddenly, he smiled and patted his glittered hand onto the floor next to him. I cringed at the noise he made as he did so. I looked around to see if anyone was judging us. I saw a couple glaring at us for a moment, who then returned looking at the art piece they stood in front of. 
     I sat next to the man and watched his hands string beads onto wire. He added a key as a charm. Once he finished, he tied the yarn and slung the necklace around my neck. I looked down at the necklace. The necklace, although clashing with my outfit horrendously with its gaudy essence and bulky exterior, felt light around my neck, leaving me with a warm and airy sensation. 
    “Where did you get the key?” I inquired, running my thumb over the bumps and pointy edges of the key. 
    “My friend gave it to me. He said he forgot what it unlocked and decided it was time to give it away.” The man had dimples. 
    I craned my neck over to his other pieces. He had one mobile-looking piece hanging from the ceiling barely grazing across the floor. It was vibrant with colors and extravagant feathers, like a peacock. I noticed he had placed thorny stars onto the hula hoops which were the foundation of the piece. This was a perfect moment to ask my question about starfish. I figured this would be an ideal test to see if he were like the other grown-ups, which at this point I highly doubted. 
    “Where do starfish come from?” I asked. 
    “Hm?” he’d move his head closer as if to hear me better. 
    “Starfish, where do they come from?” I repeated, a touch slower than my original tone. 
    “Oh! Well, you know how you wish on shooting stars?” he inquired. 
    “Yes.” I responded. 
    “Well, when they fall where do you think they go?” 
    “Towards the Earth?”, I guessed. 
    “Yes! That’s where starfish come from!”, he clapped his hands together, but this time I didn't flinch. 
    “From shooting stars...” My voice would trail off. 
    He nodded, “Who would’ve thought?” replied the man. The wrinkles on the outer corners of his eyes kissed each other. 
    For once I got an answer. For once I got the purest form of human interaction. No books, computers, or TV screens, just truth. Sure, it was not truth you would find from books, computers, or TV screens, but it was better than that. It was someone answering my questions. It was his truth. 
    I asked him all sorts of questions. He recited stories and tales explaining all my deepest inquiries. It felt like we were the only people in the entire world. 
    After about twenty minutes, my parents came over wide-eyed at the sight of me on the floor crafting bracelets and having a conversation with a grown man. They swooped me away from my new friend and scuttled out of the room. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. 
From that point on I realized how important questions were. I vowed I would never be a grown-up. I vowed to be just like the man with the emerald spectacles, blue-painted fingernails and all the time in the world.