In the beginning there was a couple – of nerds. Veritable nerds – not black-rimmed Ray
Ban frames, striped socks, Clark-Kent-haired “nerds” who listen to authentic
only-known-by-those-in-the-know bands (though we’ve certainly tried our hand at
those things… faux nerdiness to cover up actual nerdiness – psychological
warfare for the sake of self-preservation and all that…). Rather, the type who lurk at dinner
parties and say things like, “This doorframe looks right sturdy.” To which the gracious reply is usually something like, “We’ve found it to be so, yes.”
The problem with genuine nerds is that small talk and banter
does not come naturally, but in an effort to give nice back to nice people our mouths
open, and out pop spastic asinine words like so many spandex-clad
oompa-loompas.
The nerds reproduced, birthing first a boy, and two years
later a girl. There was a
collective passion to expose the spawn to everything from architecture to zebra
hybrids (zebroids, zedonks… all worthy of study).
The dad’s style was one life-long Clark-Griswold road
trip: “Get out. Look. Get back in the car. Appreciate it. Get out. Walk up that hill.
Look. Get back in the car. Appreciate it. Get out. Climb that fence.
Look. Get back in the
car. Everybody better be having a
good time.”
The maternal unit’s method of choice was to grab a kid
firmly in each hand and wander along from one place of interest – be it
academic or kitchy – to the next, stopping frequently to tell them to quit being obnoxious and then demand that they explore and
express their feelings about the learning opportunity via insightful complete sentences, “If you were Frank
Lloyd Wright and you wanted your friend to feel like she was entering a safe
place, how high would you make the ceiling? As tall as Dad?
As tall as that tree? Why?”
Surprisingly (!), those kids one day were like: “I’m
tired. Just let me sit in the
car. I hate you.” And, “I don’t
know. I don’t care. Let go of my hand and go be somebody
else’s mom.” And gradually the nerds had to accept that a love of learning has to
come from within.
Maybe, just maybe nerding cannot be taught.
But maybe it can.
There’s tenacity inherent to being a nerd. Maybe if we readjust our styles and have a bit more time in
the day…
