Every child, if she has her wits, will cling to those who protect her, and if one of those protectors goes a little over the top, says something to the effect that without the presence nearby of him or her (the protector) she (the child) would surely perish, she (the child) will allow her eyes to gravitate down to the ground at her feet, and will not venture further into the confidences of that protector, instead considering with all her finer faculties the earth, the plants that grow upon it or are waiting inside it to grow, the snow on the tops of the hills that will, come spring, rush down as a freshet, the bushes with brightly colored lights that can be plucked and eaten. "Those lights are called berries," the child will say. The protector will laugh, but angrily, as he or she has not been afforded access to the child's thoughts, and thus is hearing what sounds only like nonsense. You say you want what is best for me but in fact you just want all of me, the child thinks, and as the protector does not hear this thought either, the angry laugh softens to a smile and the two part, each believing that the other is not, for the moment, a danger.
©2021 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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