The Gift of Wanting to Know

I know where it came from

My week has been overflowing with gifts.

My knowledge bowl is running over.

Tuesday

“It was magic realism, with an All-American twist to it.”

Enlightened Susan to 35 of us gallery-arraigned on a Zoom link.

Our book club was reading Leif Enger’s Peace Like a River.

Wednesday

“Draw the lines you see in this painting.”

Coached Bob at 20 of us sitting at desks.

The Life Long Learning class was American Scene painting: From the Ashcan School to Abstract Expressionism.

Thursday

“Neither Luther nor Bach was a good student. That’s why they became great teachers.”

Edified Jim for 15 of us resting comfortably in chairs.

The Emeritus lecture was The Luther — Bach Nexus.

Early Friday morning

In a dream, I’m preparing to defend my Ph.d. dissertation.

It is my second Ph.D.

I ask myself, do I need a second Ph.D.?

A heap of papers lies before me.

On the first sheet, words were crossed out in red.

I flip to the second page and begin scratching out and replacing words.

And wake-up.

This week I learned:

Magic realism includes a miracle element in an earthy story.

Painters don’t look at the lines. They look at the mass inside the lines.

Theologian Luther wanted to be a musician. Musician Bach wanted to be a theologian.

But choo choo ing down the track after these experiences came that Second Ph.D. dream.

What was I teaching myself?

Dreams sometimes begin an internal conversation.

Until I went to graduate school at 27, I had never been a serious student.

When I became a teacher, at 22, I thought it was only because I needed a 5th year of college to stay out of the Vietnam war draft. I used the extra year to get a teaching degree.

Then, I thought I was making it up as I went along.

Now, I think I was born to know. And it wasn’t about me.

My mother’s parents — her mom graduated from high school and her father from the 8th grade — put their four children (Florence, June, Dody, and Albert) through college in the late 1930s and early 1940s.

My father was the only one of four siblings and parents to graduate from college.

I believe there is often a first cause, a simple answer to why.

My comfort, no, my need to extend my arms for knowledge, is my parents’ greatest gift to me.

It’s a gift that keeps giving.

Thanks to Ali Hall for this prompt on gifts that can be found here. I encourage you to read Dave Karpowicz’s wonderful response below. I hope three of my favorite writers: Annie Trevaskis, Ellen Eastwood, and Nan Hutton, ThD, will consider this tag a gift and not a burden.

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