Probably all of us have fleeting memories, at times, of strange experiences in remote childhood, too transient to put into words. But I wish that some day our 2-year-old Mike could, and would, be able to explain to me his sensations of last night. It was just a trivial incident, but curious.
Wilbert and Betty, going out for the evening left the three boys here, the two littlest ones already pajama-clad for bed. Baby Tim only gave us a drowsy smile, then rolled over in his play pen and went to sleep. Seven-year-old Dennis occupied himself with crayons and busy-work till his regular bed time. But 2-year-old Mike was off schedule. Every time he was tucked up on the couch, he would soon slide off and come, bright-eyed and affectionate, to cuddle on my lap and watch his big brother. Thinking to induce him to settle down, we made three pallets on the floor, Mike's in the middle. Dennis went off to sleep as soon as the lights were out; Gram dozed off too, but in a little while came to with a start when she found the middle pallet empty. I called, "Mike! Where are you?" And almost instantly a roly-poly figure came from somewhere and slid back into place.
This happened half a dozen times or more, and it was impossible to tell where all he went. I never heard him leave, but once I could discern him by the fireplace, staring intently at the embers. Once he was silhouetted against the French doors. And once, when he didn't get back as quickly as before, and I was startled enough to get up and grope for a light switch, here he came paddling in from the hall, and when he gently collided with me, he wrapped his soft arms around my knees. Nobody knows how far abroad that tour had taken him, maybe through the kitchen and dining room.
All this time he never said a word nor made a sound. He didn't bump into anything or as much as rustle a paper. He wasn't romping or teasing, he was just savoring a novel adventure, exploring in the dark. He was as sure-footed and silent as a cat. The point is, did his eyes adjust so that he could actually see in the dark like a cat, or was he protected by a baby's boundless faith that nothing would hurt him, day or night?
Some day I wish he could, and would, tell me all about this experience, but of course he never will. Maybe when he is grown the fleeting memory will come back to him and give him the shadow of a thrill. But he will never tell any one. As the saying goes, words couldn't express it. -- Hope.
Memory Gem
The smartest person is not the one who is quickest to see through a thing but the one who is quickest to see a thing through.