Why is grandma yelling at grandpa? Can’t he hear her? I’m upstairs, and I can hear her, fine! I remember when grandpa used to teach me music, and his hearing seemed great. I hear a siren, and it’s an ambulance going by…and I think maybe sometime it will be coming for grandpa. I love grandpa, and listening to him play the saxaphone, although I wonder how much he can still hear when he plays. He is so funny and talented, and playful, and I’m afraid someday I won’t have him in my life, anymore.
My friend’s uncle died last month, and he’s still very sad about it. They tell us in church about when we die. They tell us that God and the Devil are having a battle over my soul, and when we die, if we lived a good life, we’ll go to Heaven, and if we lived a bad life, we go to Hell. What IS Heaven? What IS Hell? We hear descriptions of each one, and are told that we should be afraid to die if we don’t do good. But grandpa tells me he’s never been afraid, as he is very sure that sometimes our heaven and hell are right here on Earth. I’m not sure what he means, by that. But I do see people being nice to each other, and some being mean to each other, and I wonder what makes them treat others bad. Maybe that’s what he means.
I go downstairs for lunch, and listen to grandpa watching the news on t.v., saying stuff to himself as he does. He doesn’t seem to enjoy it much, but I guess he wants to stay current with what’s going on in the world, and doesn’t know much about computers, even though I tried to teach him.
“What makes people do such a thing to a fellow human being?” he says. It’s a very good question. Where do they get ideas like that? Are they coming from the Devil? When people do good things, are the thoughts coming from God? When I think about these things, where do MY thoughts come from? Do other people think this way? Do other kids? Where do all these thoughts come from?
I’m playing with my toys, and building a small city with them, in my room. I stack the box up, and weigh it down with another box on top. I tell myself that this will keep it from falling. I decide that I can use some crayons and pencils stabbed into styrofoam blocks as small trees, and say this out loud. Who am I talking to? Sometimes, when I think, it feels like I’m teaching somebody….but I’m all alone! I feel like I’m trying to make clear what it is that I’m doing.
Now, I’m trying to make an elevator with some string, and a small pulley, for the building. This is very cool! I think of little people in the building, going to work, and using the elevator. I imagine myself as one of the people in the building, as I look through the boxes. Now, I wonder how it will be when mommy sees my work on this? I’ll bet she’ll be proud. I like that feeling. And wait until daddy sees it! He always likes to draw, when he’s relaxing from work. He designs buildings for people. Maybe I’ll do that when I grow up. That’s a nice thought, to have. I can see myself in a large room, with people looking at my building designs. I can teach them how to do it.
Am I teaching myself? Where do all these thoughts go? Does somebody else hear them, and use the information to build something like I’m doing? That would be pretty neat, I imagine. Somebody else getting the thoughts I’m thinking. That’s crazy! Where do all these thoughts come from?