Endless questioner is both fun and annoying

The questions never end.
“Why aren’t the dinosaurs alive anymore?” my 4-year-old, Braden, will ask.
“Because they are extinct,” I’ll reply, knowing exactly what his next question will be, as we have this same conversation every day.
“Why are they extinct?”
“Because a giant asteroid probably crashed on Earth and wiped them out.”
“Is an asteroid a meteor?”
“It’s similar, but bigger.”
“How much bigger?”
I could go on, but his questions never end and I’ve only got so much space for this column.
I’m well aware of the fact that my situation is not unique, far from it, as nearly every parent encounters the endless questioner at one time or another. But until you actually meet this person, it’s difficult to imagine what he or she is really like, or how the barrage of questions will sometimes please you or annoy you, depending on your mood.
On days in which I’m not talking with others, and in which I’m completely focused on Braden, I love the questions and can’t get enough of them.
For example, when I take Braden to daycare in the morning, he fires off one question after another from his car seat behind me. “Do you have sharp claws?” “Do superheroes have sharp claws?” “Does Ironman have sharp claws?” “Does Ironman have guns?”
Some of his questions make me laugh, and others are quite insightful coming from a 4-year-old. I try my best to answer every one completely, because when I don’t he’ll repeat the question until he receives a satisfactory answer.
Once in awhile he’ll pop out a question I don’t know how to answer. “How do you make a house?” Describing the physical construction of anything is not my forte, so I told him you hire someone to do it. “How does that person build it?” I was tempted to say that person uses magic, as it’s a complete mystery to me, but I know he would take me seriously, and probably tell his friends that I said construction workers use magic to build houses.
Instead, I gave him the best answer I could, saying it quick enough so he wouldn’t interrupt me with follow-up questions. “First, they dig a basement, and then they put in a foundation, and then they put the sides up, walls and roof on, electrical and plumbing in, and finish with the final details.” “Oh,” he thankfully replied.
When I’m in the mood to listen to his version of “20 Questions,” I find satisfaction in knowing he’s so inquisitive. As a reporter, I’ve got to be ready to ask questions of others in a similar manner, so listening to his questions in some ways reminds me of me.
My mother will point out that he’s exactly like me when I was his age, when I complain about his endless questions. I complain sometimes because the questions often come when I’m trying to have conversations with others, or when I’m concentrating on something else, like a good book or the season finale of “American Idol” (Adam deserved to win, but Kris was pretty good and will ultimately sell more albums).
“What are you reading?” he’ll ask.
“A book.”
“What kind of book?”
“A book for grown ups.”
“Why aren’t there any pictures?”
“Because it’s a book for grown ups. Go play now. I’m trying to read and can’t when you keep interrupting me.”
“When will I be old enough to read that book.”
Not soon enough, I want to tell him, as both my wife and I agreed our endless questions to our parents probably ended at the time we learned how to read, when we could obtain answers to many of life’s endless questions ourselves.
Then again, I recall times when I harassed my mother with questions, just because I wanted the attention and to annoy her.
My mother probably snickers to herself when I complain about Braden’s endless questions. “Payback, 30 years later,” she is probably thinking.
Payback, maybe, but it’s still kind of fun, even when it’s annoying.