Posted by C.J.
In his book Look Me in the Eye, John Elder Robison hypothesizes that as a person with Asberger’s syndrome, he has shifted his abilities from one area to another in order to adapt to the world’s expectations of him. As a child and young adult, he had an inordinate ability with machines and electrical equipment, but was lower functioning in social situations. As he grew older and improved socially, even to the point that he delivers keynote addresses at large conferences, he lost some of his mechanical ability. He does not lament the loss, but accepts it as a fair trade off. I believe that most adults experience a similar swap. As we mature and accept the challenges and responsibilities of adulthood, we give up the unique perspective of childhood. Nevertheless, we can regain some of what we used to see, but only if we listen to our children.
Case in point–on July 3, the whole family went to see the fireworks at Elver Park. Although we’ve seen the fireworks from a distance–across the street from the park in the yard of the Lutheran church or from the top of the hill in our neighborhood–we’ve never attending the display at the park itself. It was the first time the kids had seen fireworks close-up.
May, even though she’s now 11-years old, sat on my lap for nearly the entire show and we shared with each other which of the pyrotechnics we liked best.
“Look at that one, Daddy. It looks like a horse’s tail.”
“I like the ones that crackle.”
“I’ve never seen a blue firework before. It’s pretty neat, but I like the red ones better.”
About ten minutes in, May pointed out that if you look closely, you can see the smoke trails of earlier fireworks in the light of the new ones that are exploding. Hiding in the shadows of the night were smokey squids and spiders, cascading waterfalls, and the petals of daisies–a reality that I’d never seen. I’ve always been too absorbed by the obvious to notice the subtle. There is a whole new dimension, a depth, to fireworks displays that I’ve missed for the first 40 years of my life.
I wonder what else I’ve missed. If I listen, I’m sure my kids will tell me.
Author’s note: I tried to find an image on line of the smoke trails left behind by fireworks, but there is nothing that even slightly resembles the depth and mysterious beauty of the trails May and I watched. That seems right. Phantom squid should never be captured on film (or pixels).
