Geeks in Conflict

Our beloved David Tennant (Dr. Who)

My husband John and I are geeks, and proud of it.  Knowing one is a geek means that there are several channels on television where we will find something to watch:  National Geographic, History, Discovery, Sci-Fi, and any channel that shows repeats of Star Trek: the Next Generation or the Original, and Doctor Who.  Life is simplified in many ways, just knowing these few channels.

However, this geek-hood has brought out some problems in our relationship. 

I am a quiet person who can spend a whole day without talking or watching television.  My husband is a babbler, who talks even when he is alone, and must have the television on whenever he is home.  Normally, we balance each other out.  But geek-ness has stirred up some problems.

Yes, empirical formulas

A wormhole

When we watch a show on—oh, I don’t know—say, wormholes and empirical formulas, or the history of the Hale telescope, or maybe the particle collider and anti-matter…when the show is over for hours or maybe even days, my husband is still thinking about it.  Not only is John still thinking about it, he wants to discuss it with me, and share his observations & thoughts about it.  

It is what it is.

Obviously, this is a one-sided discussion, an inequality, if you like.  I listen to him for minutes, maybe as long as five whole minutes.  But somewhere in that time frame, a hand reaches up to a switch in my brain and clicks it to “off”.  Then I am blankly looking at him, nodding as if I understand and care.  In a short while, I start looking around the room.  After that, I go to the bathroom.

Add caption

Bless his heart.  He knows what is happening, but the enthusiastic desire to teach and share his passions in life override that part in his brain that should have an on/off switch but doesn’t.

Yesterday was prime.  We were watching a track event with javelin throws and such.  John started talking about how certain animals could be trained to excel at these track events.  He speculated about cheetahs in sprints, gazelles in the hurdles, gorillas in shot-put, and…I stopped listening.   Only after a few minutes, did I realize he was asking me, “What do you think?”

1980 - awesome movie

Blank, I gazed at him and tried to rebuild the sentences building up to that question.  The only thing I could come up with, as that hand in my brain struggled to find the switch and turn it on, was, “Well, John.  The only things animals are really interested in are eating and mating…”  Then I looked at him, seeing if that was a good answer.  John, ever so much like our granddaughter Sunshine, nodded and said, “That’s probably right.”

Then John got up and went to the bathroom. 

N is for: Nuthin'

On harsh winter mornings in 1960, my brothers and I hurried down downstairs, eager to get near the heat stove that sat in the middle of the farmhouse kitchen.  Winters were hard on every living being on the farm, especially on the animals.  My father had hundreds of swine and cows under his care; winter was the time when there were 20 to 30 sows in the farrowing house with their newborn litters of piglets. It was not unusual for us to find a cardboard box resting on the open door of the oven range, with newborn piglets wrapped in flannel.

Usually it was because the sow had rejected the piglet(s) for some reason, or there were not enough nipples to feed all the piglets.   Either way, we children would have the responsibility of feeding these squirming little piglets until they were large enough to go into the pig population, or until they mysteriously disappeared in the night.  That meant that Dad had found them dead and disposed of them. 

Life was life, and things died—all farm children know the harsh facts.  But, one cold winter day there was a lone piglet that was different. 

Love me for my brains!

He had been rejected by the sow because clearly something was wrong with him.  He had a huge tumor on his left hind leg.  My brother Robert looked down at the piglet in the box as I uncovered it and examined his poor leg.  “It ain’t worth nuthin’.  Should let it die.”

“Nuthin’…that’s what we’ll call him.”  Over the next days and weeks, Robert and I took turns feeding Nuthin’ first from a bottle, and then from a dish.  Nuthin’ grew, and we kept him in a pen in the breezeway until spring came.  By then, Nuthin’ was almost the size of our dogTuffy, and they played together in the yard.  We called his name, and Nuthin’ came as fast as his crippled leg allowed him.   

Fast Friends

Spring was moving into May, and Nuthin’ was getting too big to let roam the yard.  Animals reaching adolescence are just like humans; they aren’t the same sweet little kids anymore.  Dad said we had to put him in the barn lot with the three milk cows.  We could still visit him, but playing with him wasn’t an option.  That was when we noticed the tumor on his leg growing.  Day by day, we could see Nuthin’ slowing down, and not eating as much.  One day Nuthin’ lay down, and no amount of convincing could make him move.

The next morning Nuthin’ had disappeared.  No one said much about that, because all farm children know the harsh facts. 

I have told the story about Nuthin' to my children and students many times.  The A-Z blogfest gave me an excuse to share it with you.  Many many thanks to Arlee Bird, Jeffrey Beesler, Alex J. Cavanaugh, Jen Daiker, Candace Ganger, Karen J. Gowen, Talli Roland, and Stephen Tremp for hosting this daunting and awesome event!
http://tossingitout.blogspot.com 

Susan Kane  22 March 2011