About a month ago, the screen on my Sony television went dark, and I was certain that my faithful electronic companion of 17 years had finally met its demise. Eleni, who was glued to the set at the time, began wailing and complaining, as she told me how much she missed our TV. “Mommy, it was the ‘bestest’ one we ever had,” she sobbed.
While my little girl lay in bed that night, I grew rather sad—and nervous—too. In the darkness, I reviewed my finances and list of obligations in my head, and reasoned that it would be at least two weeks before I could replace the TV. Who (or what) would keep Eleni occupied on Saturday mornings as I sorted through dirty laundry, I wondered. And what (or who) would fill the empty spaces in our dinner-table talk? (In our single-parent family, the TV sometimes serves as a babysitter and as an extra—if not always well-mannered—supper guest.)
The next day, Eleni and I awoke to a house devoid of SpongeBob SquarePants and that annoying little girl on Rugrats. We ate a peaceful breakfast, followed that evening by a tranquil supper. In the silence, the two of us began to talk, our conversations veering in surprising directions. Eleni asked me whether God is a spirit or a person. On another occasion, after her kindergarten class had discussed ancestry and families, she brought up the topic of her birth parents. “Mama,” she began, her eyes glistening, “Do you think my Chinese mommy had another baby? Because if she did, I’d be very sad.” She then told me that she missed her Chinese daddy, and wondered if he missed her too.
These were topics that had come up in the past, but Eleni seemed more insistent on answers this time. As our television lay silent for nearly two weeks, I steeled myself nightly for our dinner and before-bed conversations: Would Eleni simply tell me whom she played with at school that day, and what she ate for a snack? Or would she reach down deep into her 5-year-old soul and ask questions I felt hard-pressed to answer? How could I help her understand why she no longer lives with her birth parents or in her birth country? How could I adequately address whether she has siblings half a world away? Though I like to think of myself as an open, approachable mother, these questions, without clear-cut answers, made me frankly uncomfortable.
Several weeks after the apparent demise of our television, a friend came over and started fiddling around with the set. He jiggled a few wires and—amazingly—got the Sony back up and running! Eleni let out a shriek of joy, as she settled down to gaze adoringly at Dora the Explorer, and I drew a small, selfish sigh of relief. For the moment, Eleni’s attention was diverted—her questions about the meaning of life, love, God, and her birth parents put on hold. As I watched her turn back into an innocent 5-year-old, giggling happily at the silliest jokes, I was grateful for the reprieve. I knew that the difficult questions would return in time (in fact, they’ve started to already). But I also knew that I’d been given a few precious minutes to catch my breath, ponder the abstract, and—I hope—come up with some reasonable answers that honor my child’s curiosity and resonate in both of us as the truth.
