My six-year-old built a television yesterday morning, on his own. It wasn't a real television, of course ― just a selection of Tinkertoy parts, with a small magnifying glass suspended with a string in front of a flashing light to project the glow on to a shallow translucent plastic container. (And a piece of paper on the back with a drawing of the various parts where you plug in the cables to connect a DVD player.) But it was accompanied by a detailed explanation of how he thought a television might work (drawn in part from my explanation), and anyway, it looks much more impressive than it sounds.
I wasn't sure what to make of this. It was all I could manage to quietly marvel at his accomplishment.
My son builds and draws and imagines and dreams, and I imagine with excitement where these interests might take him. I (quietly) hope he'll be more successful at whatever path he chooses to follow than I've been ― but all I really wish for him is happiness.
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