I think it’s fantastic. I think it’s a fantastic idea.

The kids in hacker training camp have gone on a field trip.  I didn’t go because my being in Denver is my field trip.  No amusement park necessary, thankyouverymuch.  They’re with a physicist who promised to blow their minds.  I’m excited to hear all about it when they return.  I’m excellent at vicarious excitement.  It’s a perk of being autistic.  I’ve been to some fabulous amusement parks and a few sad ones.  My imagination is prepared.  (My inner ears are relieved I’ve accepted the aging process.)

Seventeen stayed behind because he works there.  He is the guy.  She showed me his selfie.  She didn’t first explain what a selfie is, so there’s that.  ☺️  I didn’t really look (because I’d be too tempted to comment on how much he looked like Justin Beiber.  I know.  I’m old.)  I did ask why she didn’t want to see him at work, however.  She answered, but she lost me immediately.  Apparently, it’s strategic.  She’s used her hacking skills to map out the progression of her relationship, in a way.

I had to pinch myself hard to keep from opening my mouth.  I remember how it felt to grow up in the 80’s under the shadow of the Vietnam era boomers.  I’m presently learning their story, and what they endured.  I’ve resented being told I’m a feminist before I even knew what it meant.  More so because of course, it’s true, but I didn’t get to discover this for myself, I was raised there.  It’s completely irrational and selfish, (which irks me even more.)  I know I was spared two incredibly painful journeys by the generation just before my own.  I’m absolutely grateful.  (I just need to continue expanding my knowledge of what I was spared, and how.)

It’s inspired me to be gentle with the young.  I know they have to hurt to grow, but I want them to hurt less than I did.  (I get that the previous generation not only wanted us to hurt less, but made huge sacrifices to make certain of it.)  It must be my maternal instinct that insists I treat those younger than myself with kindness and empathy.  And my memory, I suppose.  So when Seventeen informed me she chose her university based solely on the fact he’s also attending there, I didn’t say shit.  I didn’t ask her what she wants to major in, either.  I just listened.  (It was so hard!)

We’re setting up art supplies for tomorrow while we wait for the kids to return, so I’m off.