Being like Curious George!

[phoenixmagicgirl]

Ever since I was a little girl I love to ask questions!!  I was a lot like Curious George. I especially become inquisitive when I don’t understand some thing that I’m doing. It  can be frustrating at times but I’m learning to try and just do what I have to and not worry about what I don’t understand.

As a child,was anyone else very curious about everything?

 

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[Robbo]

lol. Yup, a lot. I think it’s also a cool thing to know that lot’ s of people like Curious George too. Like a lot of us, George kinda grows on a person, like fungus…

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[Patte Rosebank]

My mom always encouraged me and my brother to find out as much as we could about anything that interested us.  This was easier for us than most other kids, because she’d taught us how to read when we were babies, and the house was full of books.

(Did you know that being able to read & comprehend at a level that’s ten years ahead of other kids your age, is really amazing—to adults?   The other kids, however, will not hesitate to let you know that they consider you a disgusting freak of nature.  Often.)

My brother and I have always treasured knowing all sorts of interesting & odd facts.  In high school, his friends called him “Cliff Clavin” (after the character on “Cheers”)—except my brother’s facts are actually true.

As for me, I know that the human brain has a *finite* capacity for knowledge.  So, someday, I’m going to wake up and discover I’ve forgotten how to tie my shoes.

 

Curiosity is also part of a very evil game that my brother discovered when he was 2.  Today, he remains a Grand Master of it.  It’s called “Why?”

When someone tells him to do something, or starts lecturing him, he’ll listen very seriously, and when the person finishes, he’ll innocently say, “Why?”.  The person will explain, and my brother will again listen very seriously, and again innocently ask, “Why?”.

The game is repeated until his victim finally snaps.  Most people only last about 3 rounds.

(This game is especially satisfying when you use it on someone who is insisting that ADHD isn’t real.)

 

When I took courses in improv, I learned a benign variation on “Why?”.

It’s called “Yes, and…?”, and it’s a basic principle of improvisation.  Whatever idea anyone throws at you, no matter how bizarre and unbelievable, you have to accept it and work it into the scene you’re improvising.

“Yes, and…?” teaches you to think fast.  This gives you more confidence to speak to large groups of people, because you know that, if something goes awry, you can make a little joke about it and keep going.

Of course, if a stage light falls on your head and knocks you out, then all bets are off.

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[Amy]

Yes!  That’s me!  I always want to know WHY something works the way it does or HOW something came about – what’s the history of it?  I was very curious as a child and still am!

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[Robbo]

I’m gonna call this the fungus thread… (in my imagination, it’s an active place)

“As for me, I know that the human brain has a *finite* capacity for knowledge. So, someday, I’m going to wake up and discover I’ve forgotten how to tie my shoes.”

That cracks me up. It also reminds me of when I was probably about 4 or 5. I was at some babysitters house. I know I was little because every day I had to take a dang nap after eating bologna sandwiches for lunch, yum! back then bologna tasted really good. It was torture being forced to take a nap, but I usually woke up later amazed that I was able to sleep during the day… weird memories. I know I walked in my sleep back then too. Mainly because some nights I woke up in the kitchen with a  big ol coffee cup in my hands. A giant coffee cup! (I was really little compared to the cup) The cold coffee was most excellent tasting. Yum!. Good smellin coffee Momma!.

The babysitter had a son, the poor guy somehow got the job of teaching me how to tie my own shoes. He was soooo miserable with teaching a lefty how to tie his own shoes… (using my imagination again, I can’t remember every detail!) I remember the kid just went nuts and had a tantrum because I “didn’t get it” lol.

I just looked at him like he was nuts. It drove the poor kid batty trying to teach me, a left handed kid… how to tie his shoes. I don’t remember if I ever got the hang of it then. It went okay this morning. Almost fell out of bed though. I’m not all that accordianated.

My parents had a clock that said it was 5:00 all the way around. And it had a lil sign that said “no drinking until after 5:00”. So I struggled with telling time a lil bit too. I just know this one from the funny stories Mom used to tell about me, n school. And frustrated teachers!. 🙂 And my imagination of course… Of course!.

It was Dad’s fault. I got in lot’s of trouble because Dad used to be (still is) kindof a funny dude to say the least. He’s got a funny sense of humor too. I used to always want to be like my Dad. Of course!, Mom loves Dad. I like Mom loving me!! lol. Hense the “get on Dad’s good side” behavior. I was afraid of Dad!!. lol. He was usually lot’s of fun though. Accept for when he called me by my full name. Yikes!!!. Or what if mom said those 6 terrifyingly horrible fear filled words. “wait till your father gets home” Oh crap!…

@Larynxa It looks like @Amy has asked you the perfect question in her reply.

What’s the history? intriguing minds would love to know some more gal… Country gal who lives in the great big city. o 🙂

We’re a lot like curious monkees, huh? Remember saying “monkey see monkey doo”? lol. Or doing something n waiting for yer brother or sister to do it too. Then point at them and say “monkey see monkey doo!”

We were great kids huh? The life of the party n didn’t even know it… cuz we were off in our own little world probably. My imagination again. I’ve had whole lives inside that imaginary world…

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[Patte Rosebank]

@Robbo, I have a first name, a last name,  and SIX middle names.

If Mom called me by four of my names, I knew I was in big trouble.

If she called me by all eight of them, I knew I was dead, drawn, quartered, and buried in unconsecrated ground—with an outhouse on top of my grave.

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