What strange creatures we were when we were young. It's something of common knowledge that children are honest. Perhaps brutally so. But I think that when we were younger, we were highly observant, as well. I look back on observations I made at the age of eight. Or nine. Or ten. At the time, they were perfectly obvious and unremarkable. To me, anyway.
I remember my father taking me to orchestra concerts, beginning when I was about eight. I saw Nadia Salerno-Sonnenberg play Bruch's violin concerto around that time. She was probably in her early 20's then. My father asked me what I thought, as was usual. I said that she was wonderful and I loved the Bruch, but why was she so angry? And she was angry. I knew this in the incredibly certain way that kids have. And I'm still quite certain that she was. I hear some of her stuff now, and there is a completely different, more relaxed feeling. Maybe she's grown up a bit from those angst-ridden early 20's years.
There was another time, when I was yet again riding with my father to a concert, but this time we rode with his friend, who played French horn. The French hornist was seeing someone that would be sitting with me in the comp ticket section. She was quite in love with him. (And this was obvious to a ten-year-old!) My father and I drove back alone. (Looking back, I guess that the French hornist rode back with her boyfriend or stayed there.) My dad asked me, as always, what I thought. I remember quite clearly that the thing that stuck out to me most was not the music that was played. I don't even know what was played now. What struck me most was that my dad's friend's boyfriend was exceedingly chatty. He talked about absolutely everything. Except he did not talk about her at all. That struck me as odd, as she was the only thing the two of us had in common in the world! So, I told my dad that I didn't think he loved her as much as she loved him. This was quite obvious to me. But sadly, not to the French hornist until a little while later.
Would that I had that same observational skill now! And that honesty. Now, I would possibly know these things. I would be able to hear and see them, but not speak them. I would second-guess myself. How do we lose this confidence in what we know to be true? Is there a way to get it back? Will I ever again be able to look at a person and know that they are angry or happy or in love? Is there a way to re-learn how to look at a situation and describe it in so succinct a manner? In this way, I guess, I was much smarter when I was ten, than I am so many years later.
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3 comments:
Learning to explain things to children helps. Small children can ask some hard questions and finding simple answers that satisfy can be quite a challenge. It helps me to quickly distill the essence of the question and answer and put it in simple terms.
There's something about a person at age 10 that is quintessentially that person.
Love ya.
You know, the strange thing is, I have no problem communicating with children in an honest and clear manner that they can comprehend. Maybe it's just I don't feel as comfortable saying these types of things to adults as I do children. While I have no children of my own, one of my good friends has a 3-year-old and another a 13-year-old and I'm with both of them frequently. (I've known the 13-year-old since she was 8 and the 3 year old since before she could talk or walk). The 3-year-old used to call me Auntie Ootie. (She couldn't say "r's" yet.) Maybe there's just something about being 10 that makes you fearless, and you learn to be more careful of what you say as you get older. With me, this fearlessness was both a good thing and a bad thing.
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