Perception From Experience

I was driving home from the grocery store with both children in the back of the SUV, their obligatory free helium balloons bobbing in vivid color in my rear view mirror, when we came to a stop at a red light.  My eldest called out, "Polar Bear Crossing!"

I glanced over my shoulder at him, preparing to ask what he was talking about.  While initially dumbfounded, I got my answer as my eyes swept back to the front to check the light.  The bank on the corner had a bear logo, and a prominent advertising sign on the front lawn near the intersection.

Any time I viewed the Bank of the West sign, I fell victim to instant brand recognition out of past familiarity and commercial conditioning.  My son, on the other hand, was used to seeing traffic signs near intersections.  Seeing a sign with a large bear outline facing the opposite side of the street, coupled with his experience with human crosswalk and deer and cattle crossing signs, led him to the completely logically conclusion to watch out for bears, even in the middle of the city.

Though little experience with bears in developed areas probably played a role in the fact that I had never seen a bear crossing sign on that lawn, I will not sell short the influence of brand recognition.  My youngest, still resorting to frustrated screams as a form of communication to bridge the gap between his understanding and skills of articulation, started calling for his balloon as soon as he saw the Safeway sign from the parking lot.

One thing was certain:  I would never again miss the Polar Bear Crossing sign my son had pointed out.

Time in a Bottle

My eldest discovered an hourglass for the first time today. He had seen it, and even played with it, many times since taking it home from his first dentist appointment, but this was the first time he had seen its time pass a few yellow grains at a time. He propped himself against the bathroom counter and stared with intensity as the sand descended through the time managing bottleneck in the middle. The how and why question started to pour from him faster then I could answer. It was clear he had seen a familiar object from an entirely new perspective. He flipped the hourglass over and said, "It's going away," as he observed the sand in the top half of the timekeeper disappear. Needless to say, it was hard to pry him away to finish getting ready for bed.

Meanwhile my youngest was obsessed with delight over the small plastic caricature whale bath toy he found in the bathroom drawer. Every time my wife would wind it up and hold fast the small white knurled knob as she placed it in his hand, he would look with his trademark grin of devilish anticipation until the whale reached his hand; then his adorable boisterous laughter as the tail flipped up and down, rocking his hand. After a few iterations of this, his brother joined in, excitedly transferring the whale into his hand after it was wound so as to share in his excitement.

Then the proverbial wheels began to turn. The younger one looked at the freshly motionless whale in his hand and poked the tail with his other hand. The tail flipped a couple more times. He then focused on the small white knob, and tried in vain to turn it. He had observed how we made it function and tried to follow suit. We're afraid of the time where he turns his attention to door knobs.