I don’t know how things work. Wish I did. But somehow my interests have never led me to find out.
The lights go on when I turned the switch. I don’t need to know how or why. The house sits up straight on its foundation. I can believe in that without knowing the physics behind it.
But boys are not satisfied with that. From an early age, they have to take it apart, see how it works and put it back together again. Sometimes they get good at it; sometimes not. I used to be amazed at how my husband knew how to fix a drain or wire a lamp. I am still amazed at how my son can operate all the lenses and filters and stuff on his professional cameras. They know how to change tires . . . how to put furniture together . . . how to make broken things work again.
I don’t remember seeing his father teach those things to his son, or his father teaching them to him. Yet somewhere along the way, the boys all learned. I’ll bet I could learn all those things, if I really tried. I once installed a door lock, just by following the pictures on the packaging.
But if I knew how to do those things, then they would expect me to do them. Well, that would not be smart. I will just let this tradition or illusion remain on the books. “Hey guys, look what needs fixing. Come to my rescue.”