Mexican Jumping Beans

It was a Sunday in the fall.  Dad and I were in the large room of his studio apartment in the kitchenette by the window.  It was a sunny day.

"Look," Dad said, holding out his right hand.  I was fascinated by the little red things that were moving around on their own volition.  "What are they?" 
"Mexican jumping beans."
And Dad went on to carefully explain about the small bug inside of each one of them that made them jump.  It was the bug trying to get out.  He didn't know what kind of bug.  I figured they had to be from Mexico.

Dad pulled one of my teeth that year with a string tied to his bathroom door handle.  We read the comics.  I ventured outside but the kids were having an acorn fight so I came back in.  I knew acorns had points and I didn't like getting hurt.

That was the year Dad introduced me to static electricity.  We scuffed our shoes on the carpet and then made balloons stick to the walls.  We made cellophane "worms" rise up from the counter by running our fingers down the middle.  We had fuzzies-- they looked like bits of shag carpet and you bought them in the store-- that did the same thing.  The fuzzies were the most fun.  It was easy to pretend that they were some kind of pet.

Later on, in seventh grade I was disappointed when the Hungarian science teacher decided we would skip the chapter on electricity.  Girls didn't learn that sort of thing in school back then.  The teacher-- one of two highly educated teacher-refugees from the Communist regime who taught in the school-- must have had to do what she was told.  I studied the chapter on my own and found it easy to understand.

sapphoq on life