I could tell my “precociousness” amused him, especially after I taught myself to read.
“I’d like to know something very important. Do you know how to sing without singing?”
“I’m not sure I follow.” “Like this,” and I sang a verse of “The Little House.”
“I can do it all inside without singing on the outside.”
“That’s humming,” he laughed, unsure where I was going with it.
“Look, Uncle, when I was little, I thought I had a little bird inside me that sang. It was the bird that sang.”
“Well, then. It’s wonderful that you have a little bird like that.”
“You don’t understand. It’s just that now I’m not so sure about the bird. What about when I speak and see on the inside?”
He understood and laughed at my confusion. “I’ll tell you what it is, Zezé. It means you’re growing.
And when you grow, this thing that you say speaks and sees is called thinking.
And thinking is what makes you reach the age I said you’d be reaching soon.”
“The age of reason?” “It’s good that you remember. Then something wonderful happens.
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