When my class is long enough we create Word Rumble pieces that consists of creating something from a set of random words. The men don’t have much time to write, just five minutes or so. I begin things with five words, and each week increase the number and complexity. One day I will spend more time exulting the ways in which this writing prompt is magical in my prison classes, but for now I’ll comment that one of my more reticent students enrolled in my medium facility class spoke suddenly like an apparition from weeks of a consistent combination of silence and the glare-scowl I’ve come to know so well from my prison work.
With an ease I’d not seen from him he began stating how he used to look at a daunting list of five, questioning how he could possibly create anything of worth. Each week, even as he became familiar with the format of this prompt exercise, he doubted the quality of what he’d produce. He concluded his statement that he would just start. As a group we decided that much of life is just about starting. I feel returning from a two-month hiatus from my work on this site is summoning such a lesson. I trust this will not be one of my posts I delight in…poignant or dazzling and funny. But, the time has come. I need to just start.
Little Man was late to the puzzle scene. It seemed from oblivion he preferred them, and it’s become a unique and particular delight for him. His giddy flapping and jumping when he receives a new box, and the zen piece placement during each reconstruction. I finally had to put away the massive five puzzle heap that he’d pick through to construct a mosaic of puzzles throughout our family room and into the kitchen.
Not that long ago his passion started with these large floor sixty-sum piece projects. He’d ask for me to sit with him that first time, as he’d diligently allow the irregular shapes to consume him until completion. I’m not so good with these things. I haven’t decided that if I’m more proud of his ability or embarrassed that he has far surpassed what I can contribute, but he is a wonder to behold! After realizing that Little Man would take about fifteen to twenty minutes to recreate a one-hundred piece puzzle, I went in search of the next step. I ended up with two-hundred questioning if he’d be able to finish it. But, he was excited as I passed the box to him. The draw to work on it immediately consuming his rigid mind.
It’s fascinating to watch an almost five-and-a-half-year-old Little Man construct a puzzle. He will only look at the picture on the box once. It’s all he seems to need. This puzzle was the first time he didn’t ask me to take part. My sigh of relief was palpable. I realized at the one-hundred piece mark that I could find scant few fittings.
After he glances at the picture, and it is a glance; I tell him to start with the edges and work his way in. I’d been concerned that his favorite independent activity would be ruined because I pushed him too hard toward such a steep increase in piece number. He ignored my strategy advice, instantaneously absorbed in his work. And, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything like it…not that I spend any time scouting people constructing puzzles to watch them in rapt attention.
He methodically works top to bottom, digging through the pile of chaos and selecting pieces he seems to naturally understand the placement of. Truly, there is no muddling through the flips and incorrect guessing. It’s a rather deliberate and efficient process for him.
A little over an hour later, my startling son constructs a two-hundred-piece puzzle. Periodically he’d call me over to show me his progress, switching from his stimming noises and movements to focused quiet. And, as efficiently as he revealed the image, he destroys his work. He doesn’t bask in the accomplishment for long. I barely manage this picture before the wreckage ensues. I can only assume finishing his work holds a different meaning…or maybe it’s always more about the process itself. I, however, am in awe of an accomplishment that is nothing to him. Over the coming days rebuilding this puzzle almost halving the time to finish.
A Tale of Two Mommies 