So once upon a time, 6 year-old Ryan (large glasses and all) accompanied his mother to the local library to check out books. Yes, even at that age, I was a nerd who liked reading and playing video games rather than actually interacting with society, judge me.
The trip went rather normally as library trips always did. I would wander aimlessly through the library that, at the time, seemed like a labyrinth of books. I usually never found anything on my own, but it was still fun to look at everything. Especially the crabs. Instead of a fish tank, my library had crabs. Did they ever move? Not that I can remember. But in the eyes of a 7 year-old, were they amazingly and breathtakingly cool? Hell yes.
Finally, after spending what seemed an eternity (probably 15 or so minutes), my mother had found suitable books for me and we waited in the line to check-out. Lo and behold, directly in front of me was an old man carrying an oxygen tank along with him. Well, as you can probably tell, I was fascinated. A shiny foreign object, almost as tall as me, whose properties I didn't understand. I knew that there was probably air inside (I really had no idea, I was just guessing), but what were these knobs? The shiny silver container had several knobs of red and brown all along it with the long plastic tube heading up to the old man's nose.
What would happen if I touched these knobs. Nothing? No, if turned one the wrong way, the canister would surely explode and kill us all. If not that, then too much air would escape and send the old man flying throughout the library. I could even see it...his green sweater whizzing past the piles of books and him yelling in his old man voice, like a deflating balloon.
I had to touch it though. Why? Because it was shiny, and I was 6. I thought to myself, "Don't touch any of the knobs, or you know what will happen." I reached up, my desire to feel the cold metal greater than my fear of destroying him. My hand softly touched the metal and -- Whack!
Ah, What?! What had happened? My head was sore and I was sorely confused. I glanced upwards only to see the wrinkled face of the old man glaring down at me, with hard-back book in hand. Then, he proceeded to simply walk away. Really? He really hit me? He should have known that I only wanted to feel it, not tamper with it. I mean, what child would do that? I sat there, stunned, not even knowing what to say. If only I could have explained to this old man, he would have been kinder and possibly even felt bad for his actions. But no words could come out of my mouth.
We then headed home, my mother confused as to why the man had swatted me with his book as she hadn't witnessed anything. Hopping in the car, I sat and thought. Instead of feeling sorry, I was actually peeved at this old man. Was it really necessary? Being aged and wizened, he should have known I had no ill-intent, I was just a kid. Even if anything bad had happened, it would have been quite a scene to watch an old man fly through the air. I moved on, as this old man clearly wasn't worth my time, and dove into my new book. Surely, Arthur knew everything there was about living.
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