The Thinkers

I was a young child when I got a gift I didn't understand. You know the kind of gift I mean, at first, it's something you're not sure even what it is.  Then, when you do figure it out, the only thing you can think of is, "but why?"  I got one of those gifts when I was probably eight-years-old.  It was from my grandmother and I remember so clearly my confusion and dismay that Christmas morning.

First of all, it being Christmas morning meant there were lots of presents: presents for me that might contain exciting, fun, thrilling, messy, noisy or tasty things and I got to open them one by one.  I'm sure I got lots of good things, I don't remember a one from that year though, but I remember when I pulled over a heavy box from my grandmother how my excitement began to build.

Grandmothers and grandfathers are notorious for, nay expected, to get those gifts that mom and dad would never, ever have bought for you.  It might be too messy or expensive or extravagant or large or just too loud, say like a set of drums.  So whatever was in this heavy box had to be good because it was so heavy.  My grandmother always got me good things in years past so I had no reason to expect any less this holiday season.

I opened the box, reached in and pulled out a brass figure of a man.  This man looked sort of naked.  And what's this other thing in the box?  Why, it's another brass, naked-ish man.  What in the world are these two mini-sculptures and why are they in the box for me from Grandma?  My mother happily said, "Oh, they're Thinkers."  This statement explained nothing.  I didn't know about Rodin's  famous Thinker sculpture and I certainly didn't expect naked brass men in my Christmas box.

My father spoke up and further explained, "they're bookends, and they're very nice."   Now see, I had a bookshelf.  I put my books on that bookshelf and as far as I could remember, all my books already had ends.  I didn't have the faintest idea what a bookend was or more importantly, why I would need not one, but two of them instead of some cool toy made out of plastic that I'd destroy in short order and not remember years later just like all the other presents that Christmas.

But those bookends sat on my brightly-colored bookshelf as I grew up though.  They moved to college with me and into my first house and they're with me today, displayed proudly in our house on our bookshelves, doing what they were designed to do.  And sometimes, when I look at them, I think of my grandmother who is now deceased and I remember that Christmas morning so long ago.

The Big Boy Update:  At last night's bath I was getting my daughter undressed when I turned around to see my son already in the tub.  He had managed to get his pants and underpants off but had completely forgotten to take off his shirt (or more likely he wasn't able to manage it.)  The bottom of his shirt was wet in the tub so I asked him, "Can I help you take your shirt off?" To which he replied, "No, I'm very comfortable."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Books for Balls.  My daughter likes books.  She likes to sit in your lap and have you read books to her.  But she has an ulterior motive.  She doesn't really want to hear the book read, she wants to find all the balls in each book and tell you about them.  That page doesn't have a ball on it?  Not a problem, she will go back to the page with the ball so she can tell you about it again.

Someone Once Said:  A paradox can only exist in words, never in the facts behind the words.