I think by now you know that Papa Ian is a very funny man. I'm sure you know many other things about me now, that you discovered by observation, and intuition. The central, or perhaps enduring, characteristic of children is curiosity, and you have your share. That is one of the things that unites us, darling. Maybe I am still a child, although I am too old by most people's thinking. They expect me to be a lot more. It's not difficult for me not to disappoint them, but the strange thing is that given that they only see the outward man, it is difficult for them to truly grasp me.
Not with you. You are two and a half years old, but there is some special insight that you have. Frankly, that, all children have, in some form; I have often said that children understand me because they can see into my soul. Adults cannot, because most of the time they are thinking adult things, adult modes, adult anxieties. But when you look at me, besides the fact that you have known me all your life, you can see into me. You are often thrilled by the possibility of what I am about to say, or do. This, I know, or perhaps, I choose to believe.
On the other hand, I cannot quite see into you, although I try so hard to. I guess I try not to assume what you are thinking, or to project (a very encumbered word) what I think you might be thinking; at the very least, because I am no longer as young as you, and I cannot think the way you do. I have to give myself intellectual room to accept your possibilities, in other words; whether actual or latent. I can only guess what you are thinking, based on what you are saying, and sometimes even hearing through your phrases are a challenge. You are quite good at talking, but obviously, you sometimes spout something that I am not used to hearing. I tell you that I don't understand, and you seem satisfied, especially if I repeat your gibberish phrase.
You know by now that you always have my attention, and I'm always in a good temper when you're here; that probably means a lot to you. Of course, you are a naughty little girl sometimes. Your little brain, inside your little sweet head, is telling you, insisting upon you, to be contrarian. But I think that that is very important. The opposite of what is right, or what is conventional, is often useful to consider, and sometimes, to experiment with. The old Italians call it chiaroscuro. When they paint, they consider how darkness accentuates, or combines with and impresses, lightness. Some of their darker paintings show the poignancy, or the depth and instancy, of the person they paint, and the dramatically poised analogy to some more mythical scene. Don't worry, I will explain paintings to you one day.
In other words, I think you must understand the wrong way to appreciate the reliability, and the limits, of the right way. Counter-cultural and contrarian attitudes are hallmarks of a thinking person; a good author once said that a thinking person can entertain two opposed ideas in one's head. I am just that sort of man, darling; which is why I smile all the time. People almost never understand why. Well, it pleases me to know both sides, well. I hope it does you, too.
