I was an arrogant child

On Saturday mornings, when I was a little girl, my mother used to make me let her sleep in. In order to accomplish this, she a) had to leave the Cheerios on the counter where I could reach them and b) had to teach me to tell time. Consequently, I was probably the only five year old child in the whole of South Carolina that knew how to read a clock with hands (as opposed to the digital type).

I thought about this this morning when two nine year old boys kept asking me what time it was. I tried to teach them how to use the clock, but they were uninterested in acquiring such unnecessary information. Children are baffling to me. Initially, I was perterbed by their indifference, but then I realized that it was not, in fact, indifference that was the problem. Actually, there was no problem. Quite the opposite, there was something beautiful happening.

I work in a library. We serve the community with literature and knowledge. Sometimes that knowledge is of the smallest degree, a type of knowledge that I apparently forgot someone taught me seventeen years ago. Someone who cared about me gave me one of the most useful pieces of information for my life. Knowing how to tell time isn't the most useful piece of information for my life, but caring I care about my community and those nine year old patrons is. They reminded me of that again this morning by trusting me as a caring member of their community. Trusting me enough to rely on me, even though we've only just met.