I read a quote the other day (attributed to wise old Anonymous) that said “Limits exist only in the mind.”   Well, I don’t know about you, but my mind seems to have cornered the market on limits.  There’s even sign in my head of a cartoon cowboy holding his hand about yay high showing the actual limitations of what I can and cannot do in this life.  Sort of like those “You must be THIS TALL to ride” signs.  Generally, I’m not one to break rules, but I’m starting to think that if I just lift my head a tiny bit higher, I could fake him (and me) out and move on.

Unfortunately, it seems as though my daughter has inherited this same sign (although, I believe hers might resemble the evil circus clowns she has feared since toddlerhood), as I have recently heard her mention what she thinks her limits are, what she can’t do – and worse, what she thinks I did not encourage her to ever attempt/pursue in life.  [Man.  This parenting gig sucks.]  She’ll be 20 years old shortly and I can only hope that it’s not too late for me to convince her that she can outwit the clowns and surpass any limitations she carries in her head.

It is a completely different story for my son, he of the high functioning autism.  Limits and restrictions have no place in his world (which has always made bedtime stressful).  When he was younger he desperately wanted to meet one of the Beatles, having memorized every song from every album and what order each one came in the line-up.  Seven years ago, through a sheer act of kismet, he met Sir Paul McCartney at the Bel Air Hotel.  Paul spent a good chunk of time with him.  My boy jumped into his arms and graciously took a little walk with him, ruffling his hair and calling him “Buddy” and “Pal.”  Later that night, my 9 year old son asked when his new friend would be coming to the house to play (meaning video games, not the famous left-handed Hofner bass guitar).  My answer, of course (and I paraphrase) was “Never.”  Yet, I’d said the same thing when he babbled on and on about someday meeting a Beatle.  My mind has serious boundary issues.

A couple of weeks ago, my kids and I were driving to see a musical (because I’m THAT mom, more prone to buying tickets to the theatre, not theater).  Driving in complete silence (I’m that mom, too), my son’s voice piped up from the far back seat, “I wonder how Stephen Hawking is doing.”  My daughter and I looked at each other and stifled our laughter, not sure where junior woodchuck was going with his pondering about the famous theoretical physicist.  We waited a moment, hoping he’d elaborate and he didn’t disappoint.  “When I meet him, I’m going to talk to him with my MacBook Pro!”  His big sister spun around with tremendous force and energy, snapping, “You don’t have a MacBook Pro!!”  To which I replied, “It is fascinating to me that you placed more importance on the fact that your brother does not have a laptop computer, than the fact that he will probably never, ever… meet Stephen Hawking.”

Nope.  My boy has a mind that knows no restrictions.  He fully expects to someday meet Stephen Hawking and to get a MacBook Pro, of course, hoping for one before the other.

My son’s birthday is this Thursday and when he makes that wish on those 16 candles, I’m sure he won’t place any limits on what he asks for (starting with a stupidly expensive computer that I cannot afford).  As his mother, I would like to learn from his example.  And, therefore take back my original statement about parenting.  It really is kind of awesome, the thing that brings a whole new dimension to the theory of relativity, as my universe expands… because of my kids.

“Life would be tragic if it weren’t funny.” 

“Although I cannot move and I have to speak through a computer, in my mind I am free.”

— Stephen Hawking

Today’s image can be found www.explosm.net [Tell ‘em T. sent you.]