So, yesterday I’m standing in front of a dozen kindergarten kids who are about to take a tour of our glass factory.
I’m trying to explain to them how cold glass holds the history of its prior liquid state – we call it the “heat history” – and how that liquid quality shows along the soft, rolled, wavy edge of the sheet.
Thinking that the concept of history might be challenging to creatures who maybe don’t think much further back than breakfast, I ask “Can someone tell me what ‘history’ is?”
A small boy shouts out “LIES”
Another five year old voice suggests “Stuff that people make up”
There are sixty years – and obviously an immense evolutionary span – between my own childhood and the one these kids seem to be living. At their age I thought that History was a kind of Truth. It came in books. My Mom told me about it. It had a reality that was tangible and honest and that I could see in buildings and places and – again – read about in books. It would never have occurred to me that it was just LIES. (I don’t think I got that until high school social studies class)
Today I am trying to decide whether these kids are brilliant or just preternaturally cynical. And I am looking at the world with a whole other set of eyes.
PS. What does this have to do with glass? Everything. It is just further confirmation that it’s not about Glass. It’s about the other places that glass takes us.