The revenge of the present
This past Christmas, my oldest received one of those build-your-own circuit kits. I thought’d it be cool, something that he’d enjoy playing around with, and maybe even learn something from (I’m big into that kind of thing).
He received it very much like he would a pair of socks. “Oh, thanks.”
“It’s a kit where you use electricity and build things,” I said.
He put it aside, and up until a couple weeks ago it has stayed untouched in his closet. I’m not sure what inspired him to bring it out, but since he did, it’s become a fixture on our living room ottoman, with he and his brother and friends all building circuits that beep and whir and flash. There’s even a propeller that they make spin around.
I started to talk with him about it, but he was clearly uninterested in causality. He didn’t want to hear why the circuits worked. He just wanted to play.
So I backed off.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of the little siren going off again and again and again: “Whoop, whoop, pause, whoop, whoop, pause, whoop, whoop…” You get the idea.
I poked my head out of the door.
He and his little brother started laughing. “Oh,” he said innocently, “did we wake you up?”
I growled something and closed my door.
This year he’s getting socks for Christmas.