Reflections

Now, every day, a couple of times a day, I get reports from home about what the boy is up to. Melanie and I got to share a majority of Cole's first year with my being home for so much of it, about 7 months, so she makes sure that I don't miss out on those subtle changes that children have each day, those moments that, in sum, make the child.

So, it is one of those moments that I've been told about often, Cole's use of the windowsill for a wide range of purposes, and this particular day, it was his assembled collection of toys that he was studying. Not playing with, studying.

Melanie has described this aspect of Cole's personality, and his use of the windowsill as his workbench, to me many times. Through them, I get so see what she sees, experience what she experiences, so that I picture his actions in my head, her detailed accounts more accurate than a photo.


And, on occasion, she will snap a few photos of what he's doing, and I think that she often captures essences more than she catches moments.


Now, I'm sure most of you know that we marvel at his aptitude for engineering and his use of things for anything but their intended purpose.

And this, I'm sure, can be attributed to normal development or his being a boy, or whatever, but you still can't help but be amazed that someone who has only been alive for 18 months can do things like dismantle a kitchen timer. Not beat it apart, but literally, take it apart. First the dial, then the shell, then parts of the mechanism inside until he's figured it out. It often elicits a conversation like this when I get home:
"What's this?" I say, as I notice the pieces on the kitchen counter.
Melanie looks up briefly and says, "That's the timer."
I pick up the pieces.
"What happened?"
"Cole."
"Oh." I puzzle over the parts, wondering how they got together, then add,"Should I pick up another one?"


Understanding that most learning stems from observation and replication, we know that what our little monkey sees, our little monkey does, but there's the things children do that have no relationship to modeling, that manifest in them, seemingly randomly, that absolutely floor me almost every day with Cole. I can't help but wonder where it comes from, what remnant of memory, collective or individual, bubbled to the surface and slipped out like a long-lived habit in someone who just learned to walk.


And when I find myself reflecting on the mind-blowing concept that this person is part of me, parts of the people I love, and part of something I don't even have the capacity to fully understand, he'll turn to me, in that way that he does, and look at me like he knows and figured it out long before I did.