Chapter 2: What's Puzzling You

Never before had I met other children. Even though they were all at least a year my senior, each and every one was unimaginably dull. After my mother had left me all alone in this place, I'd immediately run to a corner to observe. The woman in charge looked at me strangely, but since I wasn't yet causing any trouble, I didn't think she'd take the effort to talk to me or adjust my behaviour. I watched in silence and marvelled at the incredibly short attention spans of the other children. They jumped from toy to toy as if each was a bomb that would go off if it was played with for more than three minutes at a time. What shocked me, though, was how enthralled they were with whatever game they were playing. These simple games didn't bore them whatsoever. One little boy literally sat on the floor and pushed little cars back and forth for two hours straight. Sure, he kept switching cars, but it was still the same exact thing. For two. Whole. Hours. How is that even possible?

Another thing I learned was the concept of sharing. Every time two children fought over a toy, the woman in charge would go up to them and discuss how they were going to share the toy between them. One time it happened to these two particularly stupid kids who had been at each others' throats all day. I had been watching them closely: the blond boy had taken the toy right from the hands of the brown-haired girl. She had the right to keep the toy. But apparently that wasn't how it worked. Even if someone had claimed a toy, the woman in charge forced them to give it up to another kid after five minutes. It didn't seem very fair to me.

Fortunately, I was never forced to submit to the abysmal practice of sharing, because none of the toys there offered anything of interest or stimulation. I enjoyed observing the other children and their ridiculous antics more than I had ever liked playing with any toy. Nevertheless, I was still relieved when my mother finally came to bring me back home.

"Did you have fun?" she asked.

"Fun?" I repeated confusedly. What was she talking about? Was fun some type of food I was supposed to have tried for snack?

My mother turned to the woman in charge and enquired, "Did he look bored all day? I thought a new environment would help stimulate him."

"I wouldn't say he was bored," the woman in charge explained. "He looked very focused. He sat in the corner all day and watched the other kids play."

"Bored," I insisted. Upon hearing it used in several different contexts, I had learned the meaning of that word. It described how I felt basically all the time: wanting to do something, but having nothing interesting to do.

"Apparently he disagrees," the woman in charge chuckled. "I'll try to find something to keep him busy tomorrow. Do you have any idea what he likes to do?"

"He's hated every toy I've ever put in front of him. He's so advanced for his age, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd enjoy games meant for four or five-year-olds. Maybe we should get him a puzzle or something," my mother suggested. I wondered what the word 'puzzle' meant, and hoped it would finally pique my interest.

"Good idea. I can grab some from the older kids' classroom down the hall. See you tomorrow!"

With that, we left. When we arrived back at home, my mother put me in my cot and told me I should try to take a nap. Despite my attempts to fend off the drowsiness, it prevailed.

The next day, my mother woke me up to get ready to go to day care again. I would have resisted, but the tantalizing thought of a 'puzzle' encouraged me to cooperate. I was actually exciting to get there and find out what that word meant. Upon arriving, I practically leapt out of my car seat with anticipation. At least, I intended to. I had forgotten about the restraints that only my mother could undo. Frustrated with my incapable chubby fingers, I watched as she nimbly unfastened them. She carried me into day care, and I squirmed out of her arms to approach the woman in charge.

"Puzzle." I reminded her, tugging on her pant leg to alert her to my presence.

"Yes, I brought you a puzzle. Let me show you how to do it," she said. She knelt down and handed me a big box with a picture of a farm on it. She opened it, and out tumbled a wooden board and six smaller pieces with handles on them. She took one shaped like a chicken and placed it in an indent on the board also shaped like a chicken.

I thought to myself, "Are you kidding me? The piece literally has a matching picture on it. Where's the challenge?" I spitefully placed the remaining five pieces in their spots and glared at the woman in charge.

"That's too easy, huh?" she questioned.

"Easy," I repeated.

"I thought so, but I didn't want to give you one too hard and have you get frustrated."

Who did this lady think she was? The only thing frustrating about the situation was that she thought so little of me. Any kid in this room could have done this puzzle. Sure, it might have taken them several tries, but even they could have figured out that the cow goes on top of the cow, the horse with the horse, and so on. I grumbled while I waited for the woman in charge to return, hopefully with something reasonable.

"Try this one," she suggested, dumping out little pieces of cardboard from another box. These were thinner, and each had a picture on them, but it wasn't a whole picture like the other ones. "You put them together to make the picture on the box," she explained. Intrigued, I began experimenting with fitting the different pieces together. It was surprisingly engaging. My mind easily saw how the pieces would fit together; most of the challenge was getting my fingers to pick up the slim pieces from the floor. "I think you've got the hang of it. Let me know when you finish, and I can give you another with even more pieces."

After about half an hour, I placed the last piece, completing the picture of the red flower. I was so excited that I hopped to my feet and walked over to tell the woman in charge of my accomplishment. That's right: walked. In that moment I was so focused on reaching her as fast as possible, it didn't even register that I wasn't using my arms to support myself. I practically fell over with sheer delight. The woman in charge looked down at me and smiled. I still wasn't one hundred percent sure what that facial expression meant, but people usually made it when I did something well, so I associated it with my personal success.

"Jim, your mother will be so excited to hear that you took your first steps! Good job," she exclaimed. "And you finished the puzzle!"

"Yes!" I replied. "More."

"Okay, I'll get you another puzzle. Be patient."

For the rest of the day, I alternated between working on the new puzzle and practicing my walking. With each step, I became progressively more stable. By the end of the day, I could make it all the way around the classroom without falling over. I couldn't wait to demonstrate this new skill to my mother. That day, the hands on the clock seemed to move even more slowly than usual. Finally, I heard the tell-tale sound of the front door opening and watched as parents of the other children came to retrieve them. My mother arrived about five minutes after the first parent, and I hobbled over to her. Her eyes widened and she grinned.

"Jim, you're growing up so fast! Before I know it, I'll be sending you off to university!" she said, scooping me up.

"University?" I questioned. That was another word I'd never heard before. Apparently, it described something complicated, because my mother refused to explain it to me.

"It's not important. Let's go home and tell Daddy the good news."

~0~

Over the next several weeks, my mother and I developed a routine. On weekdays, she'd wake me up, feed me breakfast, and take me to day care. I'd spend my day there working on puzzles the woman in charge found for me. Each new one contained smaller pieces in greater numbers than the one before, and I thoroughly enjoyed figuring them out. The other children continued to squabble over who had what first or who hit whom. After day care, my mother would take me home and I'd take a long nap before dinner—however much I loathed wasting the time, my small body still needed the rest. On weekends, I'd do the same thing without the day care in the middle. Instead, my mother would take me with her on what she called 'errands.' These involved a lot of riding in the car and riding in a shopping cart as she pulled item after item off an endless row of shelves. After she gathered as much stuff as would fit in the cart, she'd go and take it all out again and give it to a man at a counter. This was my least favourite part: she just spent all that time putting the stuff in the cart, and now she wanted to take it out again? The man at the counter put all the stuff in bags and put it back in the cart. What a redundant process. My mother would give him a handful of paper, and finally we could leave.

This schedule continued for about a year. My speech was becoming much more proficient: I now used sentences instead of simply words. My walking had also improved immensely. I never stumbled anymore, and my mother let me walk next her instead of riding in the uncomfortable shopping cart when we did errands. Nevertheless, I desperately yearned for something new and exciting to happen. I'd heard some of the other kids at day care talk about this place called 'school' that their older brother or sister went to, and it sounded quite intriguing. I'd asked my mother several times if I could go, but she simply informed me that I was too young.

I shouldn't have wished so badly for my life to change, because it eventually did. Only not at all in the way I expected. It all began when, instead of doing errands, my mother took me to a place called the 'doctor's office.'