Sunday, February 17, 2013


As children, we learned caution in curiosity. Ask one question, a simple question, like maybe “Could you please pass the salt?” and all of a sudden you’d be involuntarily learning about 2 stroke engines, celestial navigation, photosynthesis, protective coloration in trout, every step in the refining process between crude oil and the ink they use for newsprint… 

We learned a glazed-eyed defense mechanism. A nod and a “tell me more” kind of look. The “no, I’m totally tracking with you” smile that actually meant, “you lost me back at ‘hydrocarbons in the cracking unit’”
Now, as an adult, if I know I can’t be invested and present in learning something new, I jump in and cut people off. I say to Chase “No. Stop. I can’t understand that right now.” 
Then, as a kid, I just didn’t want to disappoint him. I loved the way he concentrated on me, explaining something he wanted me to know, sitting patiently in a sloshing boat, pointing at the blue heron, moving my head with his big hands until I was looking in the right place, waiting, until I finally, finally saw the wings. 

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