In my summers at home for the past few years, I have worked as a historic interpreter at the Frontier Culture Museum in Staunton, Virginia. Each day I was assigned a site to work on out of the eight sites at the museum. Most days, I was assigned to work at the 1750s German farm. Each interpreter, aside from those who work on the Native American and West African farms, is clothed in historically accurate clothing from the time period.

On the busiest days, there would be a few hundred people coming through. It can be an overwhelming swarm at times. Most interactions with visitors go well. I give a rundown of the site, and the history, and then give more information if they ask, or appear interested. I start in the tailor shop, then the kitchen, then the stube. Most questions are “normal” questions: “Why did people leave,” “How many people lived here,” and “How cold would it be,” are easy to answer.

At times though, I would get really bad questions, or questions that peeved me the more I heard them. “Is that fire real,” was asked countless times as I cooked. “Do you live here all the time,” is cute when asked by kids, but annoying when asked by an adult. “Do you wear clothes like that when you go home,” is asked many times a day. 

I would need ten additional hands to count all the times someone came into the German house speaking in German to me, to which I would not reply, or respond in English if I knew what they said. They then would ask me how I could work on this site without knowing how to speak German. It’s always American visitors who do this, visitors from Germany did not pull this same “joke.”

Often, I wished to respond to these sarcastically. Want to know if the fire is real? Put your hand in it and find out. Do I live here all the time? Yes. Now please get out of my house. Are these the clothes I wear all the time? Yep, never change out of them. Why don’t you speak German? Because I don’t.

I struggled with these questions when I first started working there. I knew I could not give overly cheeky answers to their questions. Both of my parents work at the museum, and I would talk to my mom about this at home after work.  If I had it my way, I would stare blankly in response to these, or respond sarcastically. I was tired of it and wished everyone would ask me the questions I wanted to be asked. 

She told me a story of when she worked at Jamestown, some people each day would ask where the boats were. They were looking for directions to the boats and were just curious to see them. One day, when someone asked this, she responded with the answer she wanted to give, “They’re in the water.” 

While this answer was true, in a way, and it probably felt good to say at the moment, it still left their question unanswered. “We get paid to answer their questions,” she told me. “That didn’t help them find the answer at all,” she continued. 

She told me that even though a good bit of questions people ask, stupid as the question may be, they are still curious, and comfortable enough to ask me a question. I remember sitting in classes in high school, but never felt confident enough to ask a question I had. I was worried the teacher or my classmates would find the question stupid. I had this fear until my junior year of college. 

I then began asking questions in class, and while at times they may have been stupid, they were given earnest and thought-out answers every time. My professors may have found the question dumb and may have wanted to give an overly sarcastic response, but no matter what, they answered my question.

People may ask you weird things, things you don’t want to talk about, or just word something so poorly that you have no idea what they are asking. At the end of the day, it’s better to leave an answer to a question than it is to keep someone wondering. Questions are how we learn more about each other, and find out things we never knew. 

So unless a question is utterly offensive, or extremely wrong and inappropriate to ask, do your best to give a helpful answer to the best you can. At least they dared to ask it. Help them to learn, rather than keeping them in the dark.