From the time she was very young, Maggie has been able to navigate her world very well. She has a way with people, remembers things to the point of being near-freaky, and can find her way around most places after scanning the perimeter once or twice.
My son, my sweet Nick, soaks it all up. He stands quietly staring at people and places with his ginormous brown eyes. Sponging.
The two are alike in many ways and yet, so, so different.
Maggie is amazing with directions. She can navigate the city almost as well as I do. (OK, that’s not saying too much.)
Poor Nick. I got the first glimpse today that he may have inherited my sense of direction. For that I am truly sorry. He is destined to spend the next 35 years lost, nearly lost, or with a GPS permanently attached to his belt. ( I can not speak to the years after that. Maybe when we turn 40, a special you’re-not-lost-anymore gene will kick in.)
Today at the library, when it was time to head to the story time corner, he shouted “Story time!” and promptly ran in the opposite direction. I rounded him back up and steered him in the right direction, not thinking much about it.
We were 10 feet from the corner, and came to one more T in the aisle. A simple right turn and we were there. And he turned left and headed back in the direction we had just come from.
I know, I know. He’s only two. Give him time. I hear you.
But I know that feeling all too well.
I have lived the life of getting lost in a doctor’s office (that I have been going to for 7 years) with one too many turns for me, getting lost at the YMCA because even though I have been there 15 times, it still doesn’t sink in. I had my map upside down on the Walk for Mankind when I was 10 and walked three miles off the path, into the middle of nowhere. And didn’t realize anything was wrong for most of that three miles.
I hope this is just a two-year-old getting excited and turned around. I have a feeling it might be something a whole lot more frustrating for him than that.