May 20, 2024
Greetings from the bewildered,
When I was growing up there was a kid who lived in my neighborhood who knew things. I first found this out when he told me that the theme to the Lone Ranger was in fact the William Tell Overture, by Gioachino Rossini.
Then, at some point, he pointed out an oak tree, which he identified by its bark and leaves. Later he introduced me to a maple tree, and after that I can’t remember. By then he was also pointing out various birds and insects and labeling them with their corresponding names.
Sometime in our relationship I realized that he was someone who would know things. And I would probably not be.
It was like he had gone to some kind of camp for knowing things, hung out with people who had that secret language they all agreed on, and when he came back, he had this information, which seemed limitless. He knew the names of all the things in nature, plus Latin words, which at the time only priests were allowed to use.
The fact is, we both went to the same school, the same church, the same Boy Scout meetings, the same library. But only one of us came away from those places knowing things.
Not that I didn’t know anything. I was able to identify models of cars from the fifties and sixties, in part due to my Matchbox collection, and because my Dad worked at a car dealership. I also knew the TV schedule for each week, or more specifically when viewers could watch Jonny Quest or The Avengers or T.H.E. Cat. I knew how to blow a bubble with Bazooka gum.
For most of my life, this hasn’t mattered to me. The kid that knew things was a friend of mine, and we shared all manner of adventures roaming the streets of the East Side. If I ever thought of the difference between us, I chalked it up to the same random-kid contrasts that existed on every block. Some kids could run fast, some ate boogers, some had sisters, some were good at climbing trees. Some kids knew Latin words for bugs.
Then, in this decade, I got to know Tim, my Son-in-Life, who I treasure as a friend. I found out in short order that he knows things. Not just the magic of computer code and stuff, but how the chess pieces move, and what causes the Northern Lights. And most of all, he knows the names of trees and birds and bugs and plants and probably dirt, if dirt has names.
I’ve admired this knowledge for a while, but it wasn’t until this weekend when he was casually pointing out obscure subspecies of various frondless Appalachian Mongoose Bimini Pear trees we have in our yard, (that may not be the exact name, so please don’t google it) that I realized I should probably try to know things too.
By the way, I know other people who know things, but I think that generally they recognize that I am not of their ilk, and are have made an effort to not make me look ignorant. Speaking slowly, pausing at big words, not saying things like ‘chlorophyl’ or ‘Aspen’ to confuse me. It really has made it easier for me to maintain relationships, so I’m grateful.
It’s not that I don’t care at all about the formal names of things, it just hasn’t mattered enough. I mean it’s not like I’m keeping track of how many crows come in the yard, or if we have enough pine trees for the winter. I see the flora and fauna around me, but we just aren’t on a first name basis. Just like I don’t know all the names of the people on my street, and so they are left with the generic ‘Boy in Driveway’, ‘Man on Lawnmower’, ‘Woman with Irritable Dog’. Perhaps I shouldn’t actually write these things down.
This morning I started counting all the birds that I knew by name. I didn’t run out of fingers before I ran out of birds. Yes, I included seagull. There’s a real risk in starting to think about the things you don’t know. You’d think I’d know that.
The thing is, I like saying I’m a lifelong learner, but who knew I’d live this long? Plus, there haven’t been any tests, so I felt like I was getting away with something. I spend a lot of time in nature, and I suppose there would be some satisfaction in being able to say their names as I greet them in passing. (Not that any of them know my name.) Perhaps it’s even an added layer of respect.
I suppose this also means I need to learn the names of the people on my street. Hm. One thing at a time.
Hope this finds you learning,
David
Copyright © 2024 David Smith
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