The Stories We Tell

The woman and the young boy sat on the grass, relaxing together. They appeared to be picking something - perhaps the daisies that grow plentifully among the blades of grass in the park.

I thought, That's what kids need - adults who will lie in the grass with them and make daisy chains. They don't need electronics; they need time outdoors, to relax in the fresh air and use their imagination.

As we continued walking toward them, the boy stood up, and I noticed that he had something in his hand. It was a metal detector. The woman (his mother?) held a trowel. He was searching the ground with the metal detector. We heard a high-pitched noise as the detector found something. When it did, the woman dug up patches of grass with the trowel.

They weren't just enjoying sitting and imagining in the fresh air; they were using electronics.

My husband said, Someone fell for a sales pitch - they must have listened to an infomercial and bought that metal detector. I replied, Or someone found the metal detector in Grandpa's garage.

 And then I thought, So many assumptions in the stories we make up from the things that we see. How often are we correct? How many times are we mistaken? Does it matter? What makes a good story?