EXPLORING THE BOUNDARIES
It is our inward journey that leads us through time—forward or back, seldom in a straight line, most often spiraling. Each of us is moving, changing, with respect to others. As we discover, we remember; remembering, we discover; and most intensely do we experience this when our separate journeys converge.
— EUDORA WELTY, ONE WRITER’S BEGINNINGS
1.
I have been babysitting my student’s two-year-old boy for the last three hours, while my student and his wife go out for the night. The boy is bubbly. He has the habit of bouncing on his toes when he is excited, and he is excited about everything. He’s discovered language, and I marvel at how his mouth and tongue wrestle with words. His vocabulary grows by the hour. He has devoured the words I’ve taught him—. As in, “We have a predicament here, young boy.” And, “You’re learning through osmosis.” And, “The robot has a malfunction.” His comprehension and formation of language fascinate me to no end. I tell him in the most excited voice I can muster how smart he is. He’s excited at my excitement, so he speaks with more vigor. Puts words into unique orders. Forms complicated and syntactically incorrect sentences. He trips up when he says (“hassgropper”) and (“lemonlaid”) and (“footlops”). The two words he knows well, the two words he uses over and over, are and . When I lay him down to tell him a bedtime story, he interrupts with questions. These questions are philosophical and illogical in the best ways. he wants to know. And soon my story, a loosely planned narrative, derails. And soon we are off into avenues of more interest. More inquiry. Finally he succumbs to sleep, but we never reach the end of the story.
