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Magical Child
When our second son, Matthew, was four years old, I was taking an IQ test I found in a magazine. There was one question (by far the hardest, requiring a one-in-a-million IQ above 150) that I could not figure out, even after seeing the correct answer. It was a complicated geometrical progression of colors and proportions. So, as Matthew walked by, I asked him to look at the problem and its six possible answers. He glanced over at it and said matter-of-factly, “B” (the correct answer). “How did you know that?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he replied. A few weeks later, I was filling out a school application for Matthew and asked him to weigh himself on the bathroom scale. He disappeared for a few minutes and then came back with the information, “a three and a zero,” he said. (He could not count to thirty.) A few hours later, I was filling out an insurance application as Matthew came by and watched me write down my weight as 180 pounds. “Oh, six Matthews,” he said. Yet, two years later, he still did not know how to perform multiplication or division.
I then told the children the story of how the founder of Sony Electronics used his intuition to make better business decisions. After he used his brain to make the best possible deal, he would use his belly to make his final decision. He would imagine “eating” the deal and see how it felt in his belly. If it felt good, he would take the deal, and if it felt bad, he would refuse it. Next, I told the children to imagine that they had two offers to have a play date with two kids that they did not know well, both for the same time. They were going to use their bellies to decide which one to play with. I told them that the two kids’ pictures were circled inside the two sealed envelopes, which I then showed them. “Now close your eyes, and imagine you are eating envelope A.” After a few seconds, I told them to keep their eyes closed and raise their hand if it felt good. Two hands went up out of thirteen children. Then I asked for the hands of those whose bellies felt bad. Nine hands went up. I repeated the same process with envelope B (Matthew’s picture) and got twelve “goods” and one “bad.” When I opened the envelopes and explained whom the pictures were of, the teacher put her hands to her face and said, “Oh, my goodness!” But the children just asked for another story; it was no surprise to them.
A few minutes later, after Kathryn left to take the sitter home, Matthew asked, “Is hell real?” “Yes,” I answered, “it is a real thought, a real possibility, maybe even a real dream. Not a place I care to spend my time, though.” Then Matthew pointed to his hand and said, “I see a hook trying to stick into my hand.” “I call that a daydream,” I said. “How do I make it go away?” Matthew asked. “If you push it away, it will just push back. It is trying to teach you something. Make it feel welcome, and ask what it wants.” After a few seconds, Matthew spoke, “It says don’t get hooked by a dream—and now it’s gone.” “Kid,” I said, “you’re good.” Further Reading
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