He had finished twirling and now he was jumping. Concentration, both knees bent, then a tiny flight in the air and a big thump forward. That’s a jump.
Watching my toddler, it looked like a whole lot of effort. It’s surprising how quickly we forget, how these things become second nature. (Not that I would want to actually jump around the room, you understand – so much effort involved.)
Bend…up-thump! Bend…up-thump! He was still doing it, all round the room, and his cheeks were growing rosy from the effort.
“Look, Mummy, I’m a kangaroo!”
I don’t know why it’s so hard to teach metaphor to secondary school kids – my preschooler knows it instinctively. He doesn’t say, ‘look mummy, I’m like a kangaroo’ – he jumps therefore he is. The similes, they come later, along with the self-doubt. The metaphor, the transformation, that’s instinctive. It’s there at the beginning. It is a freeing and terrifying thought, that if you do, you are.
Perhaps that makes me a writer.
- “If you do, you are.” What would it excite you to say you are, if you follow this logic?
- And what would it dismay you to realise you’re not, if you follow this logic? (Hope that makes sense!)
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