Knowledge is Relevant

We have a friend with a very big brain. He is a scientist at a university and is doing all sorts of things curing diseases and bettering the human race. For some reason he has decided that he enjoys spending time with us and we sit around and pick his really big brain for obscure facts that maybe haven’t been brought to the surface by his brainy colleagues. Like how many beers can someone drink before you trip over the garden hose on the way home? And the possible ratios of breaking a facial bone during the fall. Important facts worth knowing when eating salty snacks on pleasant spring evenings.

He also has discovered that he really likes when I leave my Cheetos out and they get nice and chewy. So he comes and visits regularly and eats stale Cheetos and we enlighten him on more important knowledge than how big you can make a molecule.

The other night we were gathered in the kitchen eating extremely well aged ,chewy Cheetos and discussing gardening. Telling us that he had been so impressed by our own gardening skills that he had spent the weekend spreading barkdust and planting a flower bed. He was especially proud of his Gerber Daisy. I wasn’t very sure what a Gerber Daisy was, but it sounded very impressive.

I also have a son with a very large brain. It contains all sorts of knowledge that I would have to surf the internet to find. Things like different species of lizards and snakes that one should be aware of when tubing down a river. Also things like the height of Mount Everest in centimeters and the depth in inches of the Marianas Trench. One summer he expressed interest in exercising his brain on perfecting the flower bed in the front yard. Upon completion he showed me his intricate work of art which consisted of 3 tiny cactus plants and a stone statue in a garden that sprawled the entire length of the house. He told me simplicity was underrated.

The similarities in the two men became apparent as I was taking my morning walk, smelling the fresh spring air, and contemplating world peace, and I passed by our big brained friend’s house. I put aside my ideas on world peace, and stopped to view his new flower garden. He guided me across the lawn to a minuscule circle of barkdust with about 5 plants sticking out of it. Gesturing proudly, he looked to me for my approval.

"That is certainly a lovely purple plant," I said. "What is it?"

He told me he didn’t know. But it was pretty and he liked purple so he planted it. He continued to gaze and grin at his handiwork. I asked the species of the other flowers. Didn’t know those either, but he had thought they were pretty too.

"Would you like to see my Gerber Daisy?" he asked me, wide eyed. His voice vibrated with mystery.

I nodded excitedly and he pointed down to the fifth flower in the bunch. It was pretty and yellow and certainly was a daisy. It had petals, although half of them were missing. I stared at the daisy, and then I stared at him. Then I stared back at the daisy.

I tossed out into the void, "Ahem, I think something ate your Gerber Daisy. You must have Gerber Daisy Eating Rabbits."

He grinned wider. Stared at his beautiful creation and nodded absently.

"Yes, I think I must have." And he continued to contemplate his garden with satisfaction and love.

As I stood there and viewed the Gerber Daisy appreciatively, I wondered what he must be thinking. Was he even now, at this moment, dreaming up a new molecule that would save the earth? Was he mentally concocting a new formula that would cure all disease and change forever the human race? Was he maybe just remembering the pleasant salty ambiance of my tasty stale Cheetos?

Feeling it would be too invasive to ask his thoughts, I waved farewell and headed back out on my walk, leaving him to continue admiring his garden. And as I made my way down the street, I knew that both he and my son were probably both destined to change the world with their very large brains. Because they certainly would never make it in life as professional gardeners.