October 20, 2021

Innocence and the Absence of Insanity

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This is a true story! This past Maine deer hunting season, while at my annual trip to Hunting Camp, one of my long-time hunting buddies shared with me a story of one of his grandsons – approximate age of 6 years.

The young lad is attending school and is learning to read and write. It is my understanding that in the boy’s class, as a weekly project, each student is asked to write a short paragraph relating an event that happened to them in the past. During the first writing class, the teacher asked the students to write of an experience.

Knowing the young boy myself, I could picture him looking about the room, perhaps gazing out the window for a bit, wishing he was there instead of in the classroom, with a glint in his eyes, and then settling in to the task at hand, perhaps in mild protest. He wrote:

“One day my father took me to a place where men were loading logs onto a logging truck. It was fun.”

Success!

The following week, once again the teacher instructed the class that they needed to write a short paragraph about something that had happened to them that they remembered. The young boy, perhaps a future Pulitzer Prize winner, wrote:

“One day my father took me to a place where men were loading logs onto a logging truck. It was fun.”

For the teacher, it was a bit of troubling success, but didn’t say anything to the young lad.

The following week, once again, the teacher instructed the class. The boy wrote:

“One day my father took me to a place where men were loading logs onto a logging truck. It was fun.”

The teacher could not allow this to go on, but pondered how to address the young boy knowing he was a sensitive little fella. When the opportunity presented itself, just prior to the next week’s writing assignment, the teacher said to the little grandson, “I have enjoyed reading your story. Do you think you could write something different this time?”

With that, the little genius went to work. He wrote:

“On a different day, my father took me to a different place, where different men were loading different logs onto a different log truck. It was still fun.”

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