Progymnasmata

I'm a consistently amazed at the invisible boundaries that we all respect. We bend our behavior to them.

Let me illustrate. So, I live in the woods. And, barring a few partially fenced areas, the boundary between our yard and "the woods" is marked only by raised beds of leaves and underbrush.

The other day I took my youngest daughter (2 years old) for a "snow walk" (I carry her into the woods, through the snow and occasionally plop her down in snow so she can eat a few fist-fulls of it).

While we'd gone on snow walks before this trip, this one was the first time that I saw her understand the idea of "the woods" as being separate from "home" (she being too young before). So I lift her up and start walking towards that invisible boundary that delineates our yard from the wild.

She says, delighted, "we're going to the woods!"

"To the woods, to the woods, to the woods" I hum along.

Then, I pass through that invisible boundary. One step. Then another over a fallen branch. And one more by some underbrush. Right now, I am only three steps beyond our yard.

"Stop, Daddy!" she says.

"What?" I ask.

"Are there lions in the woods?" she asks.

"We don't have lions here" I say.

"Are there elephants that will stomp on you?" she asks.

"No elephants here" I say.

"Porcupines?. . . .that will poke you?" she asks.

"We do have porcupines" I say, "but they won't hurt you unless you try to grab them. If we see a porcupine, are you going to grab it?" I ask.

She vigorously shakes her head "no".

We take two more steps.

"Dad" she says, "I'm scared. I want to go home."

I walk back to the yard (about 5-7 steps) and set her down just a few inches from the leaf/brush boundary between yard and woods.

"Do you feel safe now?" I ask.

"Yeah, no lions or porcupines here" she says.

I found it remarkable that crossing that small, unseen line from our "home" yard to "the woods" would cause such a dramatic change in perspective. In just a few foot steps, we crossed from safety to danger and back to safety again -- transgressing an invisible but powerful boundary between the known comfort of home and the strange & wild woods.

. . . . .

Next semester, I'm going to walk into a classroom and announce myself as the "professor" and stand in front of the classroom. Then, just as suddenly as my young child felt the primal danger of crossing an invisible boundary into the wild, a social boundary will be made between myself and everyone else in that room. No one will see it with his or her eyes, but all will feel its presence.