My son

I am 43. I have two children. They are mine and mine alone. My boy is nine. I am proud of him. Naturally. But more than that, he astounds me. Often.

He has a curiousity I never had about things I am happy to put down to being an example of ‘magic’. I know these examples I say are magic are not of course, but its nice to pretend it’s there amongst us.

Case in point, the lever arch file.

My son is drawing many pictures for my father. One of the ways they are connecting is through drawing.

My father is a creative mind but his recently ended 50-year career was in construction. My father has also always been a workaholic and now has spent many years in chronic pain.

All this means that when my father retired in December of last year, the first thing he did was sit down in front of his computer and write a novel. Every day from morning till night he would write about a murder on a construction site.

This novel brought to light my father’s incredibly extensive knowledge of the construction industry. It also reflects just how much British crime drama he has watched over the years.

Nonetheless it is a good book and six months later when the novel is complete he is keen to write more. I suggest he writes a book for his grandchildren. My father has always been a genius at telling the world’s best bedtime stories. These first came to light when I was a child and now my children have the joy of staying the night at their grandparents’ house and going to sleep after hearing an utterly wonderful tale, which always involves a far-fetched, funny and off-the-wall world where they are the central character.

My father agrees to my idea and sets off to write a series of book chapters for each of his various grandchildren where something like drawing illustrations to go with your grandfather’s book is a pleasure not a pain.

My son has no father. He walked out when my boy was 1 and has never wanted to make contact with my son or his sister again. This may be a reason why my boy adores my father and so has drawn many, many, pictures for my father’s book.

Hence why I gave my son a lever arch file. It may seem odd that I have lever arch files lying around our house ready to give to deserving A4 illustrations. Our house is small, my work is largely paperless and lever files seem dated to me. They are for paper and my over dependence on paper has now progressed to a heavy reliance on devices.

However, my father was a lecturer in the final decades of his career and he was also a hoarder. I too tend to hoard things try as I wish this were not the case. As such, I have a ridiculous supply of stationary in my home that is seldom touched and some of which seems foreign to children of today. Case in point, the lever arch file.

Lever arch files come from an era that has very much past. Perhaps this is why my son looks at this folder I give him with such curiosity.

I have already put his drawings for his grandfather’s book in the folder. Weeks ago I found them all around the house getting damaged and feeling like a good mum, gathered them together and put them in said folder.

Just today my son is resuming illustration work. It is the day before Father’s Day. My son is keen to do more before we celebrate his grandfather with him tomorrow.

One more picture is done. Then another. Then,

“What is this?” My son calls out to me. I stop painting badly the trim around the house and come to him.

“Ah! That’s the clip.”

“I don’t think I can use this folder. It’s stiff. I can’t get things in. Everything’s stuck,” he says disappointed.

As I make my way over I wonder, is the clip rusty? Can’t be. It’s new. Never been used. Then I realise.

“Oh! That’s the clip,” I remember suddenly.

“It goes hard to keep the papers in place and then loose so people can open it and get paper in.”

Knowing that my son likes to know how things work I take pride in going further.

I muck around a short while with the clip and then I say,

“See? When you press down it’s hard. The papers can’t get out and when you press ‘up’ the papers can get in. The clip loosens. Down, tight. Up, loose.”

I am proud that I have explained this mechanical functioning to my son. I know knowing is important to him.

And then he says the words, “How does it work?”

I love my son so much because of these words. I know there words as the words of my son.

“How does it work?

We are at the department store. I buy some clothes. The retail person needs to take off the magnetic security tag. She proceeds to use the magnetic removal tagger. How does it work he asks her?

A lift. The oven. The garage door. The mechancial bridge. The ATM machine. The cash register. How does it all work? He wants to know.

For a parent who likes to think these things are ‘magic’, providing adaquate answers is a tall ask.

“I’ll have to Google” has never been said so much as in our house.

My son looks again at the lever arch file, and intently at the clip.

“Ah! I got it.” He exclaims suddenly “When… see… and when I … sideways.. moves..”

It takes him no more than ten seconds to work out how the folder’s clip was designed to perform its intended function.

I find that as I listen to him his words make no sense to me. I don’t understand why I have always found scientific concepts so hard to comprehend. Is it from boredom? Or is it because I would prefer to live in ignorance? Magic is ignorance of the facts. Sometimes life is better that way.

But not to my boy.

He shows me that science is wondrous.

I look at him. My heart swells. I live a life looking for awe. Awe is in nature. Vast expanses. Sweeping vistas . Whole night skies.

Awe is watching a boy delight in understanding the design behind the magic.