Strange and Stupid Questions

When a student looks at me with apprehension written all of their face, I ask him if there’s something wrong.

“I have a stupid question that I’m afraid to ask.”

I reply, “There are no stupid questions, just stupid answers.” I now realize that I’m incorrect in that proclamation. There are stupid questions. A lot of them, in fact! They resonate in my brain everyday and make me wonder about my unrevealed IQ. They are quandary’s that puzzle me at unexpected times.

For example, last night as I was getting dressed for bed I pulled out a fuzzball from my navel. The question that intrigued me that sounded stupid was how do I get fuzz like that in my belly button? I’d never ask that in a small group sharing time. People would look at me with dismay, perhaps move away from me to a safer distance, and not invite me to come back.

Last night I was out for a walk with Carol and another dumb question, peppered with weirdness, occurred to me. A bird was pulling a worm out of the ground for a late dinner. I wondered if birds ever wish for a sprinkle of salt or some other kind of spice as they chow down? Is that stupid, or what?

My guess is that all of us have some of those stupid questions floating around inside our noggins, wanting to escape the solitary confinement of our maximum insecurities. I’m sure that even the most extroverted individuals have some kind of internal warning light that keeps them from being hurled off the cliff into the chasm of doofus-ness.

It is entertaining to me to watch press conferences where the political leader/coach/athlete/performer rolls their eyes at a reporter’s question. Even though some of the questions might be relevant, the interviewee feels called to make it seem stupid. At some press conferences it seems like there are never any questions asked that aren’t stupid.

That makes me think of another question that I will never ask someone who seems intelligent. Why do we get zits in our adolescence and hairy weed patches in our ears and gross toenails when we get old? Makes you think, doesn’t it? Or maybe cut a wide path around me next time we run into each other, especially if at the time I’m looking at my belly button!

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