My first Montessori teacher thought I was brain damaged, too.  At snack time, I always spilled my juice. Montessori teachers place great value on practical skills.

    My family, the Hartogs, places great value on impractical skills.  As a result, we are easily confused.  My mother was, at various times, a radio host, occupational therapist, dancer, community theatre director, graduate student in philosophy, new age health advocate, and Montessori teacher.  My father (who was also born left handed, but broke his arm four times before slicing off his fingers in a snowblower) makes his living teaching about laws that no longer exist. The family was founded by Hartog Hartog, who started the first Jewish ham factory in Europe, and chose his own surname, seemingly out of a failure of imagination.

   Decades of speaking to cans of kosher ham has not lowered our voices. The Hartogs are loud people.  At mealtimes when I was short, we trotted out to the screen porch and screamed at each other until the neighbors complained.  During these fights, I hid under the table.  Eventually I grew too tall to hide under the table, and hit my head when I tried.  This spilled my juice.

    At this time, I had entered school, and was hitting my head frequently.  Eventually, the kids who threw balls at my head became my friends, and came over to watch me spill juice and write like I was brain-damaged.  Together, we played lots of games involving me not breathing.  Afterwards, they took me outside and hit my head with balls.

    Recently, I read about a possible technique of making molecule-sized microprocessors.  A computer made of such processors would dwarf our brains in speed and complexity.  Reviewing my childhood, this no longer seems a frightening possibility.  I am certain my brain is already dwarfed.
Back Home