I was in the kitchen making supper when Elizabeth came bounding in with a burning question on her mind.
"Mom," she said, "what is quantum physics?"
This was not a question I expected from an 8-year-old.
My mind raced. Quantum physics. Do I know what that is? Do I even know what non-quantum physics are? Is this what kids are talking about on the playground these days?
My lips formed the answer, my words spilling out before my mind even fully engaged.
Ask your brother, I told her.
I'm still digesting the magnitude of this, this precise moment in time in which I realized, or perhaps just finally admitted, that my 17-year-old stepson is smarter than I am.
It has been a bitter pill to pass my lips, let alone swallow. When precisely it began, I'm not sure. But gradually over the course of the past year or so, the kid who drifted through school, pleasantly but rather aimlessly, started showing up at our house for dinner twice a week with books in hand.
School books. And he sat down and read. And then he would put pencil to paper and do homework.
And then he started talking with, or rather explaining things to, his dad. Science-y type things. Things I understood a little at first until they rapidly disintegrated into discussions that involved time, space, Albert Einstein and - I'm not kidding - making yourself invisible by bending light.
Or something like that. I've tried to pay attention a few times, but my brain has always reacted to certain key triggers (among them algebra, calculus, space travel, robots and, apparently, physics) by simply shutting down. Like a turtle, my mind contracts inside itself, refusing to let the offending information pervade my inner sanctum, where thoughts of "Celebrity Apprentice" mingle freely with snippets of '80s songs and mental calculations of how much milk and peanut butter we have on hand.
There never has been room for things such as physics in my world.
But there is in Ryan's.
Which means he is smarter than me.
Of course, I am immensely proud of Ryan. Although I can claim little credit for the fact he has matured into a responsible, thoughtful, kind, and intelligent young man, I would like to.
And I am delighted he has discovered his calling. He is interested in becoming a high school science teacher, a profession he is well-suited for, based on the patience and finesse he displays when explaining things like quantum physics to an 8-year-old.
So he is looking at colleges, investigating majors and double majors in physics and astrophysics and other subjects that I could tell you if my brain didn't keep shutting down.
He is leaving his options open, which is very wise. Perhaps he will go for a Ph.d, he mentioned casually at the dining room table.
I tried to keep a poker face, but inside felt a pang: This kid is going to be way, way smarter than me.
I asked his father if it bothered him that Ryan is smarter than us.
John looked at me as if I was from one of those black holes he and Ryan like to talk about.
Of course not, he said. Why would it?
For me, it's obvious: I'm envious. I wish I understood all those things. I wish I could train my brain to want to learn about those things.
But even when I was Ryan's age, it was pretty clear my future was in a less scientific realm. When I was Ryan's age, I planned to be a writer, as in novelist. My father sat me down and explained I would need to earn a living in the meantime and as such, my two best options were English teacher or newspaper reporter. He also advised since I would probably be working for many, many years, I should choose something I really enjoyed doing.
And so, because I thought working at a newspaper would be just like on "Lou Grant," I have spent the past 19 years producing news of people and events that range from rather ordinary to really quite extraordinary.
To me, it has been as fascinating and satisfying as solving a physics problem is to Ryan. As a person who knows a little tiny bit about a lot of different things, but not very much about anything in particular, it has suited me well.
And, putting all my own parental insecurities aside, I am delighted Ryan has found something that suits him so well. I can only hope all my children will be blessed with a job they enjoy.
I will work harder at accepting the fact that this boy, just 4 and still in his dinosaur phase when I first met him, has found his future in a whole different plane than the one I understand.
I am heartened that there may be a few occasions when I can still show the lad a thing or two. When talk turned to applying for college, I suggested I would be happy to help Ryan with the ins and outs of writing a cohesive essay.
Ryan brightened. He seemed to like that idea.
As long as it's not about quantum physics, we should be OK.
- Mary Jane Grenzow can be reached at mgrenzow@themonroetimes.com.
"Mom," she said, "what is quantum physics?"
This was not a question I expected from an 8-year-old.
My mind raced. Quantum physics. Do I know what that is? Do I even know what non-quantum physics are? Is this what kids are talking about on the playground these days?
My lips formed the answer, my words spilling out before my mind even fully engaged.
Ask your brother, I told her.
I'm still digesting the magnitude of this, this precise moment in time in which I realized, or perhaps just finally admitted, that my 17-year-old stepson is smarter than I am.
It has been a bitter pill to pass my lips, let alone swallow. When precisely it began, I'm not sure. But gradually over the course of the past year or so, the kid who drifted through school, pleasantly but rather aimlessly, started showing up at our house for dinner twice a week with books in hand.
School books. And he sat down and read. And then he would put pencil to paper and do homework.
And then he started talking with, or rather explaining things to, his dad. Science-y type things. Things I understood a little at first until they rapidly disintegrated into discussions that involved time, space, Albert Einstein and - I'm not kidding - making yourself invisible by bending light.
Or something like that. I've tried to pay attention a few times, but my brain has always reacted to certain key triggers (among them algebra, calculus, space travel, robots and, apparently, physics) by simply shutting down. Like a turtle, my mind contracts inside itself, refusing to let the offending information pervade my inner sanctum, where thoughts of "Celebrity Apprentice" mingle freely with snippets of '80s songs and mental calculations of how much milk and peanut butter we have on hand.
There never has been room for things such as physics in my world.
But there is in Ryan's.
Which means he is smarter than me.
Of course, I am immensely proud of Ryan. Although I can claim little credit for the fact he has matured into a responsible, thoughtful, kind, and intelligent young man, I would like to.
And I am delighted he has discovered his calling. He is interested in becoming a high school science teacher, a profession he is well-suited for, based on the patience and finesse he displays when explaining things like quantum physics to an 8-year-old.
So he is looking at colleges, investigating majors and double majors in physics and astrophysics and other subjects that I could tell you if my brain didn't keep shutting down.
He is leaving his options open, which is very wise. Perhaps he will go for a Ph.d, he mentioned casually at the dining room table.
I tried to keep a poker face, but inside felt a pang: This kid is going to be way, way smarter than me.
I asked his father if it bothered him that Ryan is smarter than us.
John looked at me as if I was from one of those black holes he and Ryan like to talk about.
Of course not, he said. Why would it?
For me, it's obvious: I'm envious. I wish I understood all those things. I wish I could train my brain to want to learn about those things.
But even when I was Ryan's age, it was pretty clear my future was in a less scientific realm. When I was Ryan's age, I planned to be a writer, as in novelist. My father sat me down and explained I would need to earn a living in the meantime and as such, my two best options were English teacher or newspaper reporter. He also advised since I would probably be working for many, many years, I should choose something I really enjoyed doing.
And so, because I thought working at a newspaper would be just like on "Lou Grant," I have spent the past 19 years producing news of people and events that range from rather ordinary to really quite extraordinary.
To me, it has been as fascinating and satisfying as solving a physics problem is to Ryan. As a person who knows a little tiny bit about a lot of different things, but not very much about anything in particular, it has suited me well.
And, putting all my own parental insecurities aside, I am delighted Ryan has found something that suits him so well. I can only hope all my children will be blessed with a job they enjoy.
I will work harder at accepting the fact that this boy, just 4 and still in his dinosaur phase when I first met him, has found his future in a whole different plane than the one I understand.
I am heartened that there may be a few occasions when I can still show the lad a thing or two. When talk turned to applying for college, I suggested I would be happy to help Ryan with the ins and outs of writing a cohesive essay.
Ryan brightened. He seemed to like that idea.
As long as it's not about quantum physics, we should be OK.
- Mary Jane Grenzow can be reached at mgrenzow@themonroetimes.com.
