When I was an explorer, new on the planet earth, I wanted to know everything. I was like a cat with a shiny bead.
I couldn’t stay out of things.
I took everything apart, even before I knew what a screwdriver was.
I never had an exit or follow up plan.
Most things, usually my toys, were taken apart, then lived in pieces under my bed, never to live in sunlight again.
My tool kit was comprised of anything I could remove a screw with.
Steak knife with a cloth to protect my fingers.
Yeah, not elaborate at all.
I always wanted to see the parts that made a thing work.
Preferably as they were inside of the thing, but I was aware that was not possible.
So, take it apart.
Here’s the back story.
My father used to take me to bars and get the owner to let me in, never drinking alcohol. But we would sit with his friends, The Blue Line was one of these places in Seattle, no longer standing at 2nd Ave. and Denny Way, and as we were sitting, laughing and joking, I was the butt of his jokes. Hurtful jokes. He would make fun of me, my clothes, my haircut, bring up any music I liked, just a terrible experience, but he would do this again and again and I never stood up for myself. He stomped on anything that represented me in any way. I just couldn’t be mean back to him.
I know that my father was extremely racist. A trait that is taught, handed down to offspring. “N****r” easily slipped from his lips regardless of the present company. He was a very hateful atheist. It showed normally in any discussion that slightly hinted on religion or spirituality.
Listen, if you have children, be a part of their lives. Be in the middle of their lives. Even if it irritates them, be in their lives. In the end, they won’t have memories like I do, and they won’t wish that they had more memories like I wish I had. Be a part of your children’s lives. BE THERE!