First of all, yes I'm back. In my head choirs of angels are singing down as lights beam up from beneath me and a soft breeze ruffles my long hair while I make my entrance. In reality, I'm just sitting in a hotel room in Cape Girardeau, MO. If I run around the room I can get the hair ruffle. So I guess that's something.
Anyhoo, since my last post blogger has changed a bit. I had no idea what I was looking at when I logged in. I almost created a whole new blog, which would be silly since I can't even keep up with this one. Derp.
I've been traveling a lot for work lately. Mostly driving around Missouri, Illinois, and Kentucky. But last week I got to go to Philadelphia for a disability law conference. It was a jam-packed two days, and it included sprinting around Philadelphia to see all the big stuff, like the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, Franklin's Grave, and the Graff Declaration House. It also included the question "what IS the Liberty Bell?" and a subsequent discussion re: that. But, my airplane rides reminded me of traveling once when I was little. I was equally as fascinated with airplanes then as I am now. I fly all the time but I'm still 100% fascinated by airports. I could watch airplanes all day.
We were flying to Texas from New York to visit my grandparents, and I was with my Mom. We got on the plane and I got my window seat and immediately starting playing bank. For those looking to entertain your kids in a non-digital way, bank is when you lift the window shade and pretend you're a bank teller. You complete the transactions and send the imaginary people on their way...through the sky presumably. It's incredibly fun for a 6-year-old only child who is used to both making up people and talking to herself. Also on the plane with us was another young mother and her daughter, who was mentally handicapped. She was having a hard time with the flight, and my mom suggested I draw her a picture to make her feel better and be a friend. I thought it was a fanTASTIC idea, as I had just mastered the art of drawing realistic looking houses and had learned to draw things that didn't just look like scribbles. I got to work, and I was so proud to show my mom what I had created. You can imagine my shock when she took my drawing and frowned...
I had drawn a smiling light-bulb with a quote bubble and he was saying "You're Bright!!!"
...Of course now I can see the problem. To the well-versed adult, it looked like I was making fun of the girl. I was six though, and believe it or not I had not yet mastered the art of sarcasm. That came around age seven or eight. So anyway, I was rather upset that my mom didn't think my drawing was appropriate. My mom tried to explain it to me in six-year-old terms, but in my mind I was just trying to compliment her. Despite the sadness at my wasted drawing, I recovered and busted out a kick-ass house or something else that couldn't be misconstrued as teasing her. I do remember her smiling when she looked at my picture, and I felt really good about it, even if part of me wanted to yell "You should see the picture my mom wouldn't let me show you! You ARE bright!" Ever a ray of sunshine I am.
Stories like that make me think "Good lord how many times have my parents had to hold in laughter at something I just didn't get." Probably a lot.
