Mismatch: A Kid & His Grandfather

Mismatch: The Kid and his Grandfather

I often go to the mall on Sundays. I take my pack, current books, a clipboard, Post Its, and other crutches for my obsessed mind. I also take along my camera and hunt, seeking the picture that makes an evolutionary point, one that captures some of our old habits in this newer setting, one constructed in demand with those old habits. Thus, it's an easy fantasy to move my clock and my geography for the afternoon so that I'm exploring a village rather than in a large, contemporary mall. I can play while I dream a bit.

The mall is a respite on weekends, a neutral but diverting arena. I can drink mocha and scribble rambling ideas and watch other people pick the toys that suit their specific natures. I often see old hunters sleep under its skylights but I have never seen a woman sleeping there. The gatherers are fully awake, sometimes talking on a cell phone, leading their children and sometimes their husbands through the stores, with stops for resources from a MAC.

It was early. I sipped a purple drink of yogurt and strawberries and stared transfixed at the kid. He was between 6 and 8 years old and himself transfixed and staring as he sat near the foot of a glass elevator, watching as it went up and down with early shoppers. He was also transfixed by his wheelchair that straightened his back, kept his head vertical with a pair of steel arms, and with padded Velcro, held his arms to its arms. A silver-haired gentlemen sat in front and smiled and talked to him while I watched from 30 feet away. Both of them seemed to be pretty happy.

I couldn't resist.

"Hello, I'm Jim Brody. I'm a psychologist and I sometimes give talks about nature and how we reshape nature to suit our needs. Could I take a picture of you two from your son's back? It would help me make some points this summer when I give some talks."

"Sure! Funny thing, his father's a child psychologist and we get a lot of requests like yours."

I took several shots and went back to my yogurt and waited.

Grandma arrived and came over, inquiring if I was doing a picture book. I explained about nature, evolution, culture, and how some professors at Michigan and some in the U.K. think we are out of synch with our tools. She didn't blanch too much at the word "evolution" but continued with her own story, explaining to me:

"My husband was a sales consultant to the architects that redesigned the mall. He helped to negotiate with local farmers for purchases of the land. The old mall was an outside affair, a modified T, and the modern elevator and chimes stand now where the old clock tower used to stand, at the intersection of the T and it's red brick walks." (I remember them well.) "We often bring our grandson down and the mall has become his playground."

I commented, "I used to know a young lady whose grandfather owned one of the farms the mall replaced" and neglected to mention that she was somewhat poor and living now in a blue collar neighborhood 20 miles away. (I had never learned from Kathy whether granddad made a poor deal or if he bargained shrewdly but neglected to share with her. Did the guy with the grandson bilk my friend's grandfather? Fractal possibilities elicited a mix of indignation and curiosity about the unknowable past.)

Grand mom and I chatted a few more moments, she rejoined her husband. Meanwhile, her son the kid's father, joined their threesome. He glanced idly my way, never aware of my dreaming of a bulldozed farm and the massive reconstruction project of two decades past, one that left a playground for his son and me. Or the mass of technical explorations that gave me a camera and him the right wheelchair so that each of us could play more intensely.

References:

Popper, K. (1994) In search of a better world: Lectures and essays from thirty years. London: Routledge. (re "active Darwinism")

Turner, J. S. (2000) The extended organism: The physiology of animal-built structures. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

copyright, 2001, all rights reserved, James Brody

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