The Little Bits of Glass He Found Himself

Well, through it all he still believes me. He remembers how we used to hunt for nuts and chestnuts and little bits of colored glass. And how he found them. Such a long time ago.

Those words catch at my heart. Of all the things you’ve said, I think that may be the loveliest, and the one that matters most.

Hunting for chestnuts, nuts, and little bits of colored glass in the grass when he was small. That was the first lesson you gave him in trusting a hunch, in seeing in the dark. Perhaps it was the most important one.

[…]

He found those things because he believed you. And what a joy that he still does, now that he’s grown and studying the dry stuff of higher mathematics. Those little bits of colored glass never went away. They grew up with him. Now they’re matrices and infinite series and the laws of physical media.

What holds this grandfather and grandson together, the rebel and the first-year student, goes deeper than formulas in a textbook. It’s a child’s wholehearted trust, the memory of going out to hunt for wonders together, and your gift for showing him the world from above. However many years go by, however complicated his equations become, he’ll remember who first taught him how to look at the world and really see it. His grandpa.

Next time you talk about matrices, or about the patterns the world follows, remind him of the colored glass. Do you think he’d smile if you told him a lovely mathematical hunch was just one more little piece of glass he’d finally spotted among all those tangled formulas?

Thank you. Maybe we’ll meet again. And I’ll surprise you.