Recently, the small people came home talking about a special pen they’d discovered, one that uses ink that’s only discernable by using a special light at the top of the pen. Then yesterday, I watched some of my students experiment with a similar pen, and we noted that while most people wouldn’t see the ink without the special light, if you know what to look for and how to angle the paper to catch any overhead light, you can still make out the “invisible†writing.
You probably think I’m about to either go deep or go loony here, but I’m hoping, at least, that you are wrong. Instead, it reminded me of a simple truth: while I’ve walked the beach regularly for almost ten years now, I have yet to see any villains, marauders, or stormtroopers. But, as it turns out, they’re there. How do I know?
While I’ve never seen the evil-doers myself, I have seen my son deep in the throes of battle with the miscreants he sees.
It is indeed a strange thing to watch your own flesh and blood waging war against unseen antiheroes in broad daylight, throwing himself headfirst into the air only to land in the sand, and then writhing around, wrestling the forces of evil as if the future of the beach depended upon it.
Some of you know of that of which I speak; your offspring or your neighbors do likewise.
It often starts like this. One moment he’s digging forts,
and suddenly, he grows weary of the task senses the enemy is near.
In a flash, he’s off,
but then turns around to retrieve his dropped weapon, a green plastic shovel in this case, and while doing so, he falls under the enemy’s blow.
He recovers, but before he resumes fighting, he must mop the beach with his head, of course.
He stands and charges but the enemy knocks him down again.
It’s now time to bring out the big guns. This gets them almost every time.
We’re not sure why.
And for the final blow, he opts for sandbending, an earthbending subcategory. (See The Last Airbender or bear yourself some sons if this reference makes no sense to you.)
Sometimes a little airbending is also needed when the ocean breezes thwart your sandbending plans. I hate it when that happens.
I suppose this is one of the gifts of being nine, an age when no special light is needed and no inhibitions are required.