On being a genius

          When you travel extensively you meet a lot of people. Sometimes a person you meet on the road makes a lasting impression and gives you a memory you never lose. And sometimes that person gives you a great story to tell.

          This is about one of those people but we need to agree that, because the remarkable person in the story is a youngster, the name, city of residence and the location where we met will be left out.

          The bottom line is that I was at a race and was watching from a suite full of racers, officials and sponsors. The company was friendly, one of those situations where a group of folks who are unlikely to meet again enjoy being together for a few hours.

          Seated directly in front of me was a charming young lady who I learned was eight years of age. She knew her racing. Her parents are both drag racers and the girl herself races a quarter-midget. The girl’s chatter toward her mother was constant and all about racing.

          “That’s against the rules!” she would insist. “He (the driver) can’t do that!”

          I began talking to the girl and enjoyed her conversation. She asked if I wanted to see her racecar, which I was delighted to do. She showed me about a dozen images on her mother’s phone/camera of her in her car. In one image, her uncle lifted one side of the car off the ground, leaving the other side on the ground and with my new friend still belted inside so the girl’s father could change a tire. Funny image.

          “Daddy should have been faster,” at changing the tire she judged.

          “You know,” I told the second-grader, “I am a genius.”

          She frowned and said, “You are?”

          “Sure,” I said. “I bought a cell phone exactly like the one my wife has. That way, when I don’t know how to do something, I can ask my wife and she’ll show me.”

          The girl’s mother nodded and agreed that this was a very smart thing to do. The daughter was a little less impressed, but she continued to visit with me anyway. We kidded back and forth until the kid launched into a story wherein she and her dog were traveling somewhere in a truck.

          I asked who was driving.

          “My dad was,” she said. “We…”

          “That’s not what you said,” I pounced. “You said you and your dog were in the truck. Who was driving, you or the dog?”

          She frowned, crossed her arms and asked, “Are you sure you’re a genius?”

          I laughed for a while and didn’t quit smiling for a while longer. I hope you laughed, too.

          Thanks for reading.