My nephew and I share an obsession with disasters. Air Disasters. Sea disasters. Volcanic eruptions. Earthquakes. Floods, famine, fires. Bad weather of all sorts. Outbreaks of the disease. Explosions. Criminal disasters. Cryptozoology and the paranormal are acceptable topics when disasters are unavailable, but disasters are our preference.

My interest is what I would qualify as professional: what caused the disaster? What was the human factor? Could future occurrences be prevented with training, or policy changes, or procedural changes?

I’m not sure why my nephew likes disasters – he’s not very articulate about that or anything else – but I suspect it is about sense-making of the world. If he understands why they happen, he will have solved a riddle that will prevent them from happening to him. He is neurodivergent and has always struggled in school. The academics were hard enough – reading and math are challenges for him – but the social side of things added a complex distraction. Why were the things his friends talked about when they were alone inappropriate to discuss with girls or with adults? Why did he get in trouble for just saying aloud what everyone else was whispering? And Why did he always seem to be the one getting in trouble when everyone was saying or doing what he did?

The world has always been a confusing place to my nephew. When he was a toddler, he seemed anxious about everything. Everyone was bigger than he was, they spoke a language he didn’t understand. They made decisions about his life that he didn’t get a choice in, took him places, bought him clothes, brought home a sibling, all seemingly without explanation. I suspect that he was making up his own explanations and that they didn’t reassure him.

One of his first words was Why? Most children go through a phase of asking Why, but my nephew asked Why constantly and continuously. Why did traffic lights turn green then red then green again? He wanted to know and he wanted to know urgently, as if his understanding of the world depended on it. He asked everyone Why and got different answers. Some people took his questions seriously; some people told him not to bother them. Other people made a joke out of his questions, providing joke answers. So then he developed a second line of questioning, “Is that true?” for when he suspected people were pulling his leg. He has an incredible memory, recalling details of conversations from years past.

“Now get into the left lane,” his father instructed as my nephew was driving us in a neighborhood that they had only been to once or twice. “The left lane is ending,” my nephew responded, remaining in the right lane. An argument ensued, ending when the left lane itself ended less than a block later.

My nephew rarely volunteers information, preferring to ask and answer questions instead. And this is as it has been also since he was a small child. When you spoke with him, it felt like you were being interrogated. Question, answer, question, answer, question, answer. No sharing of opinions or feelings about the answers. Just question, answer, question, answer.

Once, when he was about 5 or 6, the extended family rented a townhouse in Orlando, in a resort with a lazy river, and near Disneyworld – a child’s paradise. My nephew, who had been busily asking Why all morning, fell asleep just as the rest of the family decided to go out for a walk. My father-in-law and I elected to remain back at the house, seeking, I think a little quiet in which to recharge. In the silence that settled peacefully over the house after the other three children had left, I settled down with a book, my father-in-law, in a recliner, gazing out the window. After 30 minutes or so, my nephew awoke and wandered downstairs.

“Where is everyone?” He asked and we answered.

“What are you doing?” He asked me and I said that I was reading and he asked what it was about, quickly losing interest when he found that it didn’t involve disasters or monsters.

“What are you doing?” He asked his grandfather, standing beside his chair. My father-in-law scooped him up into his lap and replied that he was watching a flock of birds that were circling a construction site across an empty lot from our backyard. He pointed out the birds and the two of them, with close to 75 years between their ages, watched together for a moment in silence.

“Why are they flying like that?” My nephew asked and inwardly I groaned. Here came another interminable question and answer session.

“I’m not sure,” my father-in-law replied. “Why do you think they are flying like that?”

There was a pause. And then my nephew advanced a theory. And another. And another. Hypothesis came pouring out of him and he talked without stopping for about 5 minutes. His grandfather listened, carefully nodding to indicate that he was listening. I stared, taking in the flood of words, amazed.

When he finished, he gazed up at his grandfather anxiously, waiting for him to pass judgement. Which of his explanations was worthy of being The Why?

His grandfather thought for a second or two and then, tucking his grandson’s head under his chin in an embrace, replied with, “Well, maybe. Let’s watch together and see what we can learn.”

And the two of them sat in peace together like that until the rest of the family came home.

I’ve thought a lot about that moment.

And I wonder: Was that the first time that someone asked him for his thoughts about Why, and didn’t correct him when he answered?