Bewilderment

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THE TECHS GOT A KICK OUT OF ROBIN. They liked to tease him, and, amazingly, he liked being teased. He enjoyed it almost as much as he liked conducting his own private feedback symphonies and directing his own private training animations. Ginny told him, “You’re really something, Brain Boy.”

“Definitely a high-performing decoder,” Currier agreed. The two of us sat in his office surrounded by toys, puzzles, optical illusions, and life-affirming posters.

“Is that because he’s so young? Like how kids learn a new language without trying?”

Marty Currier tipped his head to one side. “Plasticity has been documented at every stage of life. Habit impedes us as we age as much as any change in innate capacity. These days we like to say that ‘mature’ is just another name for ‘lazy.’”

“What makes him so good at the training, then?”

“He’s a distinctive boy, or he wouldn’t be in the training in the first place.” He picked up a Rubik’s dodecahedron from his desk and toyed with it. His eyes turned absent and I knew who he was daydreaming about. He spoke, more to himself than to me. “Aly was the most incredible birder. I’ve never seen anyone so focused. She was pretty out there, herself.”

My head snapped to attention in resentment and anger. Before I could tell him he was a creep who knew nothing at all about my wife, the door opened and Robin spilled in.

Best game ever.

“Brain Boy really racked up the points, today,” Ginny said, squeezing his shoulders from behind like a coach massaging a prize boxer.

When everyone starts doing this stuff, it’s going to be really cool.

“Exactly what we think.” Martin Currier set down his puzzle and raised both hands in the air. Robin ponied up to his desk and gave him ten. I took my son home, feeling like the future’s guardian.