When the sky cleared, the worms were out, and my G was gathering them by the armload.
K has always had unique scientific fascinations: the mechanics of pipe organs, the cell structure of leaves, the nutritional value of dandelions. When he was a preschooler, he begged me for welding equipment. Now he's taking up crochet. Like I said, not your average boy.
G's never had much for special interests, unless you count Teletoon Retro and Barbie.com. The "I'm too cool for this activity" attitude that teenage girls get, she's had since preschool. The only way you can tell she liked something is if she whines "That was too short!" when it's done.
Which is why it was so fun at the campground to watch her, every chance she got, rain or no rain, collecting worms and slugs (while her brother and I sat in the dry camper and made friendship bracelets).
The first night before the rain started, she found a bug in the water and showed it to a dad on the playground. "It's a baby dragonfly. They live in the water for the first part of their life before they learn to fly."
The next time she found a baby dragonfly, she ran across the nearly empty beach yelling, "What do you know about baby dragonflies? Let me tell you!"
I don't know how many people she taught, but when she skipped to the bathroom, the people around a fire pit called out, "It sounds like a horse galloping by, but it's G!" I had no idea who they were.
"Your a regular marine biologist," I told her on a sunnier Sunday as she lined up snails along the beach.
"What's that?" she said.
"Someone who studies water animals. Or maybe you're an entomologist, one who studies bugs."
"What do you call someone who's both?"
"Um, 'Both'? There isn't a word for both at once."
"Does that mean I'll get to wear a white lab coat and walk around saying 'Hmm, very interesting'?"
Yes. You'd look great in a lab coat. But for now, that raincoat is much more practical.
Just till you learn to fly.
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