Wood
While getting into the lift to throw out parts of an old bed, I was suprised to hear a small voice behind me ask, "which floor are you going to?" It was a young, plump boy with a knapsack. I mentioned the ground floor, and he obliged to press the button, saying "okay, I'm going there too".
Not a floor had passed before he walked to my corner and asked what the wooden planks were for. I told him they were parts of an old bed I was throwing away. "Why throw them away? You could remove the metal parts and use the wood for something else", he said, pointing to the iron brackets.
I was amused by his precocious questioning, and decided to probe further.
"Well, what do you think I could use them for?" I asked. With no hesitation whatsoever, he suggested using them as "spare parts". He went on: "Or you could also use them to write a message. With a penknife. You can carve the letters on the wood. I think it's a good idea actually. Or you could give them to a carpenter".
Too many thoughts came to my mind so I just smiled and nodded. "Thanks", I muttered, as the door slid open. The boy said good-bye and pottered off. I carried the planks to the void deck and set them next to other parts of the bed which my father brought down earlier.
As the lift ascended, I recalled a time when I was like that boy. I remembered the power I felt from speaking freely with adults, and the praise I received for being able to do so. At that time, I honestly thought I was being applauded for coming up with ideas which adults themselves couldn't think of. Well, I guess not. For all that is sometimes said about how much adults can learn from children, there's a reason why children are children. And that's no bad thing.
Not a floor had passed before he walked to my corner and asked what the wooden planks were for. I told him they were parts of an old bed I was throwing away. "Why throw them away? You could remove the metal parts and use the wood for something else", he said, pointing to the iron brackets.
I was amused by his precocious questioning, and decided to probe further.
"Well, what do you think I could use them for?" I asked. With no hesitation whatsoever, he suggested using them as "spare parts". He went on: "Or you could also use them to write a message. With a penknife. You can carve the letters on the wood. I think it's a good idea actually. Or you could give them to a carpenter".
Too many thoughts came to my mind so I just smiled and nodded. "Thanks", I muttered, as the door slid open. The boy said good-bye and pottered off. I carried the planks to the void deck and set them next to other parts of the bed which my father brought down earlier.
As the lift ascended, I recalled a time when I was like that boy. I remembered the power I felt from speaking freely with adults, and the praise I received for being able to do so. At that time, I honestly thought I was being applauded for coming up with ideas which adults themselves couldn't think of. Well, I guess not. For all that is sometimes said about how much adults can learn from children, there's a reason why children are children. And that's no bad thing.
posted by The Empty Signifier @ 5/01/2006 04:35:00 pm
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