Two Point Five

Some readers may know the institution at which I work numbers both its buildings and courses of study. We speak this language: “you take the tunnel under Building 18 and go through 56,” or “have you visited yet in 1.018?” Yesterday I needed to search my computer for class related materials for the course 2.671. But a mis-typed digit brought me into a whole new world.

Instead of 2.671 I put in 2.5, and my “assistant” finder of things, the magnifying glass on the desktop, went into immediate action. The results of my search are telling:

  • “my 2.5 yr old does not listen.”
  • “my 2.5 yr old jeep sounds loud when idling.”
  • “my 2.5 will not eat.”
  • “my 2.5 is out of control.”
  • “my 2.5 yr old sebring cranks but won’t start.”
  • “my 2.5 yr old screams

I felt both an immediate kinship and sympathy for the those two point five year olds out there; it would seem they are a feisty lot, and the adults around them are searching for clues to their behaviors (and/or cars that will enable them to drive away for a break.) I recall my own experiences with those caught in the throes of being two: they are coursing full speed ahead toward ever more independence, yet find themselves often in a world they, too, think is out of control with people who won’t listen. Who wouldn’t send up a scream or two?

Today as we train into the city, I actually hear a few voices in the traincar, unlike yesterday’s completely silent journey after our team lost in the Superbowl. The strangeness of that event would fill another post, but suffice to say it seemed everyone was rather muted on the morning ride. Somehow that reminds me that whether we are 2, 22, 42, or 62, we’re all on the road together, hitting different curves at different times. Imagine the car here filled with those lively two year olds described above. I hope we bigger folk can face into our days today with a bit of their joy of life and their affections.


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