In physics, there is a field of study called particle physics that is concerned with breaking matter down into its smallest parts. One of the ways in which they do this is through a particle accelerator, a device which speeds subatomic particles up so fast that when they collide they (hopefully) break apart into even smaller components. Unfortunately for most particle physicists, though, particle accelerators tend to cost a whole lot of money–money that the government would much rather spend on vital programs like the creation of federally funded foot-tapping-free zones. Fortunately for those same poverty-stricken scientists, however, there is a solution to this problem, one that will keep both the scientists and the anti-toe-tapping lobby equally happy: simply give my daughter, Clementine, a nice new pair of scissors.
That’s right: an ordinary pair of scissors: once Clementine has a pair of these in her hands, she is unstoppable. Really, you can’t imagine the havoc she is capable of creating with this one simple tool: forget all of your personal horror stories about your own child’s DIY haircuts and neighborhood dog make overs–if Clementine were to be given enough time with a pair of scissors, the world would ultimately be reduced to atoms–one snip at a time.
In this I believe that she is unique: although a lot of what I write about in this column is universal, I have yet to meet another parent whose ten year-old daughter is a burgeoning particle physicist (and an old school one, at that). I have also yet to meet another parent who daily has to wade through a veritable snowdrift of dismembered t-shirts, Swiss-cheesed pajama bottoms and unraveled scarves, or one who, like I, feels like they are constantly living in a sequel to Edward Scissorhands. (Not that there aren’t plenty of mothers who wouldn’t gladly invite Johnny Depp into their houses to film said sequel–myself included). And while of course I have met other parents that worry that their child will someday end up working in a windowless cubicle, I have yet to meet the one who worries–as I do–that it will be because their daughter has been given employment in that office as a human paper shredder.
The logical solution, of course, would be to remove all of the scissors from our house; however, besides the fact that I don’t particularly wish to live in a house where I have to gnaw my way into every package of tortillas, the fact is that Clementine does not really even need a pair of scissors to perform her experiments: in a pinch, some strong fingernails and a sharp set of teeth have always served her just as well.
I suppose this could mean that Clementine is on the verge of becoming one of those scissor artists–the kind that cut beautifully intricate pictures out of a single sheet of paper, but–judging from her current body of work–it would seem that if her scissoring lies in an artistic direction, it is in a more Abstract one (“The 4 million pieces of paper you see lying on the ground in front of you represent Man’s Inhumanity to Man–or Man’s Inability to Get the Trash to the Curb for the Third Week in a Row–take your pick.”)
True, there is always the possibility of a career as a real particle physicist someday–who knows, one day she may make the discovery that will change the world as we know it.
Then again, she could just as easily end up as an extra on the set of the above-mentioned Edward Scissorhands sequel. Let’s see: ground-breaking scientist or the chance to be in the same room with Johnny Depp? I guess only time will tell if she makes the right choice. (And if, when she does, she takes me along with her to the set.)