Tabula Rosa

By David Snyder

I was sitting inside a Starbucks, at one of those counters overlooking the outdoor patio, doing my best to not look like a damned creep. Outside, in front of me, was a small boy and his mother. He was probably six or seven years old: peak unpredictable human age. His mother was sitting there, reading, what looked to be, The Lord of the Rings, though I couldn’t tell which one. Her son was sitting next to her, sans book, phone, tablet, or any other item of entertainment. The lad was going tabula rasa.

I couldn’t believe the earth-shattering scene before me. A seven-year-old boy sitting completely still, a seven-year-old boy so non-dynamite like? Inconceivable! But there he sat, watching the cars wait at the red light, the police officer trot down the street on his Philly, and his mother reading her novel of fantasy.

Again, we were separated by wood, glass, and steel, so I couldn’t make a word being said outside, but I didn’t need to, watching the mother and the boy. At one point, the mother made a gesture implying there was something to distract him in her backpack, probably another book or some electronic device. The boy assured her he was fine with a subtle shake of the head and a waving off towards the bag. She didn’t press the matter, and went back to Tolkien.

That boy had me thinking about how often I just sit and stare out at the scenery. I could conjure up a total of zero times in recent memory. If I’m ever out and about, and I am most days, I have myriad items of distraction at my beckoning. The most common is the laptop, always fired up and ready to waste an hour or three browsing about aimlessly. Then there’s the phone, for sending texts I don’t really care the response to. Finally, there’s usually a book or newspaper, something to be read. All of these items can promote productivity, but all undoubtedly keep my eyes and ears not on what’s unfolding around me, but on the artificial world I’ve created for myself.

I’ve pledged to spend an hour sitting outside Starbucks, sans device or book. God only knows what little gem I might spot. I’m fairly certain that that little tike is going to be president of the United States in forty odd years, so the least I could do is try to emulate the future great man.