Last night before I went to bed, I went in to say good night to the kids. Boy in Black was sitting on the floor with his brand new laptop computer, loading onto it all the important things he might need for college, like every song that Bob Dylan ever recorded and every episode of Futurama. He was fascinated with the GPS (Global Positioning System) that came with the computer. "Look, the computer knows exactly where we are. See the map?"
I find that kind of technology creepy, but Boy in Black loves it.
"Watch, I'll put in an address and it'll tell me how to get there."
He typed in FirstExtra's address, and sure enough, a map to his house popped up on the screen. It's a neighborhood I've known my whole life, but how strange that this computer could provide such precise directions. Of course, I can't imagine what Boy in Black is going to use the GPS for, since he is going to Snowstorm University and he has lived in Snowstorm region his whole life. Perhaps he is planning to hike with the laptop? That seems kind of inconvenient.
As I stared at the map on the screen, that familiar neighborhood, I remembered the first September that Boy in Black was in kindergarten. He'd made a friend right away, and we had invited him over, and we were driving to pick up the new friend. Boy in Black assured me he knew how to get to the friend's house.
He gave me careful directions: "Turn right. Wait a minute at this corner. Turn right." He spoke with such confidence that I didn't question his directions at all, until I noticed that we seemed to be going up and down every street, crisscrossing the neighborhood methodically, stopping at every corner.
"Boy in Black! Are you sure you know where the house is?" I asked. I am terrible at directions myself, but even I could see that the route we were taking was pretty circuitous.
He looked at me, surprised, but with the complete self-assurance of a five-year-old.
"This is the right way," he said, "It's how the school bus goes."