|
Mother's Day had already arrived and it was too late to come up with something. My daughter, who had just returned from a school trip, cried out that we had to make something for mummy. Of course I concurred, and so good intention led us to a tiny a shop, where after due deliberations she selected a miniature delftware clog which was really an ashtray but which at her request was filled with six cherry liqueur choccies for the occasion. I did my best to get four other target group sensitive items from the somewhat limited range through to the next round, but my attention wandered for the briefest of moments and without my personal intervention none of them survived the challenge. Of course we perfected the project together by engineering a vase filled with flowers from crepe paper, all the while arguing about the optimum shape of the hearts we were cutting out. Although I lost the argument, she made up for it by drawing my attention to the stiffening effect of the glue we were using, boosting my confidence to the point where I fearlessly tackled the impossible task of transforming three narrow strips of wishy-washy pleated paper into ten-inch stems, and quite successfully, I'm pleased to report. However, having compared notes on dissolving sugar and salt and how the two would taste when combined, this did not keep her from springing the question on me of whether a rusk covered in chocolate sprinkles could be dissolved in water. Although I am only too well aware that scientifically speaking my reply was far from appropriate, seeing her twinkling eyes I just had to say yes. Can I please try, was her eager response. I know, it's a bit of a stretch and the formulation is somewhat over the top, but I'll risk it anyway: do you know at what precise point during the process of growing up so deplorably many children lose their appetite for exploring and end up swapping their natural curiosity for mere consumerism? Slightly overbearing as it may sound, isn't it as if we should rediscover how to teach? |