When I was nine months pregnant with our fourth child and my husband was traveling for work yet again, I received a call from school that my son’s ear was bleeding from the inside. I was planning with teachers at a school 40 minutes away and hurried off in a state of distress.
“I forgot to tell you Ezzy shoved a Lego spear in it,” he had said nonchalantly when I picked him up, rushing him downtown to the doctor. Infection from a punctured ear drum.
Yesterday, I opened the dryer and a purple serpent head greeted me from the metal grate.
The day before, the garbage disposal nearly broke. It was a Ninjago character, whoever the green one is, lodged between the blades.
Legos are part of our life.
Every year for his birthday in March, Ehsan asks for nothing but Legos. He spends hours building intricately imagined landscapes. Sometimes, he sketches a loose plan. Sometimes, he enlists his younger sister as an assistant. Mostly, the designing is fluid, and he experiments with pieces until he arrives at what he deems ‘cool.’
When Ehsan is gifted an expensive set that includes directions, he follows them and builds accordingly, but dismantles it soon after and cares not at all about the time spent creating.
“I’m going to make something else,” he’ll say simply, repurposing parts to include two heads on the dragon, or ensuring the boat launches pellets. “See this long landing? I made an on-ramp.”
When we’re seated at the dinner table, eating as a family, he has Legos beside him on the bench. When he’s supposed to be getting ready for school, I’ll walk by his room and see him half dressed, only in a top or bottoms, distracted and building yet again.
“Don’t you want to put your beautiful creations up on a shelf?” I’ve asked multiple times. “Don’t you want to save this castle, or this dragon? They took you hours to build!”
The answer is always no. The end result is not essential. He cares about possibilities and options. He cares about imagining, attempting, re-jiggering, re-crafting.
Our boy and his creative mind, he does what his mama always says about workshop teaching: he exalts process.
Slice of Life, Day 16
Ahh . . . your final line.
So perfect.
So true.
So compelling.
Exalting the process over the product is the heartbeat of workshop teaching. The way you intricately described Ehsan’s intensity and commitment to his craft is the same kind of fervor I want all writers to feel as their fingers race across the page. His purposeful revisions were my favorite. So much love for this blog. Can’t wait to see the buildings your future architect erects!
This is pretty amazing and what an awesome impulse to encourage! I love that your son consistently wants to build his own things even after having followed the many steps to reach the prescribed outcome. Your son’s approach turns out to offer the perfect metaphor for your own work.
Oh, we are very different. I would (and will) always, always create for the end product, but I so appreciate his acceptance to restart! He’ll be great at taking critique some day because nothing he’ll make will ever be quite finished. Such a gift!
You painted a beautiful portrait of your boy. I loved this line: The end result is not essential. He cares about possibilities and options.
I am impressed by his lack of attachment to outcomes, and by your continued support of his passion to create. This Slice is well written with an attention grabbing hook (bleeding ear), personal and professional connections. Brava!