Those of you who know me know I have a son who thinks. And thinks. And theorizes. And philosphizes. And speaks these often.
We call these musings “Zaneisms.”
Here’s one he spouted wandering through the house one day. It’ll likely make its way into the family Christmas letter:
“Why do they always say no two snowflakes are alike? As if anyone could even take the time to check that.”
There’ve been hundreds and hundreds of these over the years. For a while they came fast and furious all day long. Things like, “Why don’t moms know anything about electricity?” While I stuttered my protest, he answered his own question with, “Oh, right. Because they only like shiny things.”
Well, I couldn’t argue too vigorously against that.
Or the time he asked, “Why don’t people live to be 200? Oh, wait. That wouldn’t be good.” Before we could respond, he said, “Oh, yeah. Because they wouldn’t have enough retirement saved up.”
Those were both when he was about 8.
And then when he was 11, “So, I’ve been thinking. When people say, ‘Pick on someone your own size,’ that’s actually not such a good idea. I mean, you could get hurt. If you’re going to pick on someone, it’s much smarter to choose someone smaller than you.”
Or, “I’d hate to be Jimmy Neutron with a migraine. His head is enormous.”
He’s a philosopher through and through. I often “have no response to that.” And now with his newly added obsession with politics, the philosophizing has been taken to a whole new level.
Writing the Christmas letter every year gives me a chance to go back through my journal and pick out a few of his gems to share with family and friends, and I think it’s one of my favorite things about the Christmas season. Of course, I throw in some of the antics of the other kids as well. Like the latest career goals of my daughters (waitresses at Denny’s) and stuff like freak Family Home Evening accidents and making homemade space shuttle fuel.
It’s good to comb through the past, to revisit the rough times I’ve recorded and see how they smoothed themselves out, to see the Lord’s hand in my life. Keeping a journal improves my vision that way. My dad says he writes in his journal the thing that’s troubling him the most at the time. Then he often goes back through the pages to a year (or more) ago, sees what his biggest worry was, and can evaluate how God helped him through that trial or how he’s grown as that test continues.
It’s a good way to live.
And it’s a good way to keep track of the funny stuff and keep the love alive as the memory quickly fades.