Ratiocinatio (ra’-ti-o-cin-a’-ti-o): Reasoning (typically with oneself) by asking questions. Sometimes equivalent to anthypophora. More specifically, ratiocinatio can mean making statements, then asking the reason (ratio) for such an affirmation, then answering oneself. In this latter sense ratiocinatiois closely related to aetiologia. [As a questioning strategy, it is also related to erotima {the general term for a rhetorical question}.]
Why did I let him do it? Why did I stand by and let it happen? I guess it was because I loved him. I thought it was the right thing to do.
We grew up together. We went through school together. In our senior year we fell in love—deeply in love. We spent all our free time together and we missed each other when we had to be apart. We decided to go to college together. We went to UC Santa Barbara where he majored in electrical engineering and I majored in English Literature. These were divergent interests, but it didn’t matter. We knew he’d make a lot of money and I would do a great job of reading bed time stories to our children. We got married when we graduated and stayed on so he could complete a Master’s Degree. I worked in the library cataloguing books and he had a teaching assistantship. Between us we did ok.
The years passed quickly. He got a job designing electric implements—everything from lawnmowers to cars. I was a devoted housewife and had two babies—Rhonda and Yolonda. They’re in college now. But, when they were five and six, respectively, Cliff came home said he had a surprise—to come outside and see. There was a tattered black velvet recliner with different-sized full moons printed all over it. We had no room for it in the living room. So, with much effort we carried it down into the basement.
Cliff sat in the chair and leaned back. A little foot rest popped up. Cliff said it was incredibly comfortable and closed his eyes. As soon as he closed his eyes he started convulsing and his head flashed red and blue—almost like a strobe. I was terrified. I thought Cliff would die. I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, Cliff opened his eyes and he was back to normal. “I just witnessed the Battle of Gettysburg! I was there. It was horrendous, but exciting. I’m lucky to be alive!” I believed him. He never lied. “What’s next?” I asked. him. “I don’t know,” he said. Well, Cliff figured it out and decided to keep riding the chair. Cliff’s chair riding went on for years. The chair wouldn’t work for me and we kept our kids away from it.
Unfortunately, the chair chose where Cliff would go, and it wasn’t nice. It was to battle fields throut history. Cliff seemed immortal when he travelled into harm’s way—from the Battle of Marathon to Waterloo. He witnessed hundreds. He developed a taste for war, started wearing camo and bought several firearms. He built a shooting range in the basement and joined the NRA. He bought a set of walkie-talkies and we used them to communicate between us, using military protocols. He called me “Baby 1” and I called him “Big Guy.”
Then, I called hm to dinner one night and he didn’t respond. I went down in the basement and found him laid out in the chair, dead.he had on weird looking boots covered with reddish orange mud. His camo fatigues were torn on one leg and covered with dirt too. His face was covered with camo cream paint.
The Coroner couldn’t determine his cause of death. Analysis of the mud on his boots found that it was likely from Vietnam. I went to the Vietnam war Memorial. I found his name in the directory dated 1968. We got married in1980. I couldn’t stop crying. How did this happen? Why did this happen? I will never know, and if it wasn’t for our two children, I might believe it never happened.
I burned the chair and will remain in mourning for Cliff for the rest of my life.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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