I had read my way through the Golden Books on the bottom shelf, and was advancing to the next level of Olson’s Super Market book section. No longer crouched on my knees, I immediately felt more grown up as I reached at heart’s height and arm’s length. This selection went beyond the stories of Snow White and leaned into the more complex tales of Rose Red (her less famous sister.) I had to sound out the larger titles. Pan – do – ra’s Box. My mother was filling the cart from the generic sections of the aisles when I tugged at her blouse, trying to get her to explain. She put the book in the safety of the child area of the cart. As I whined for brands like Chef Boyardee, she pointed to the book, and I was more than willing to make the sacrifice.
The man in the store apron carried the bags to the car and placed them in the back seat of our Chevy Impala. My chubby thighs stuck to the seat on the drive home. No seat belt required, I easily grabbed the book from the rear before we reached Van Dyke Road.
“I don’t get it,” I said as my mother came back for the second paper sack in the driveway. “Read it again,” she said. I did, and one more time on the front steps. Still puzzled, I took it in the kitchen. “I thought curiosity was a good thing…” I said. “It is,” she said. What else could she say? Hadn’t we dreamed a life beyond this gravel on countless Sunday afternoons? Hadn’t we continued to dare things like love and hope? I could see her going through the list in her head as she reached opened each cupboard. She could see me outlining my own heart in worry. That box had long been opened. “You go ahead and Pandora all you want,” she said.
Maybe I never did get the meaning. Maybe I jumped too quickly to the second shelf. I still do that. Nothing comes without risk. But the greatest experiences I have ever had have come from taking the chance. Of course problems come along with it, but the rewards… well beyond heart level.
Maya Angelou wrote, “Curiosity wants to behold, to comprehend, maybe even to become.” And isn’t that what I, we, want — to keep becoming. I fling open the morning window and lean into the possibility of maybe even me.
