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Being an elementary school, special education teacher, I have seen enough children to know that each child has their own "character". Some will look alike, talk alike, have similar mannerisms, similar experiences but just as snowflakes, no two individuals are exactly the same. No two come from the same time, place, culture and make all the exact same choices. Even twins will have distinctly different personalities, choices and their own likes and dislikes.

I use this word "character" a lot because it has always fascinated me . I have all too easily been distracted by a word or thought, worse yet a concept. To me the concept of character would open up a doorway. I can only describe it as when one looks into two mirrors at once- if you focus you can see into what seems a vast dimension where there are multiple yous and multiple reflections. We only have one character (reflection) yet there are a infinite number of ways in which that character can evolve and grow (the multiple reflections in the mirror).

In a story , a movie or a play could you imagine two Hamlets or two Scarlet Oharas. In real life, could we imagine two Rosa Parks, Einsteins, or Abraham Lincolns- no it is absurd. Yet still the majority of people, try to strive for that allusive American dream. We strive to be like others- instead of narrowing down how and why we are different. What character are we in the play? And more importantly what choices does that character have? We always have choices, and choosing not to recognize them, is still a choice.

I remember the first time I plucked the delicate petals off of a flower- "he loves me" "he loves me not" My mind was whirling, to whom am I asking this question? Was it fate? Was it a random fascination gone awry? I remember distinctly going through flower after flower plucking delicate petal after petal, asking for everyone in my life ;the boy i had a crush on, my father, mother etc.. I remember talking to this "it". Looking ahead and counting the petals left- trying to tempt and cheat fate- throwing one flower down and starting another- this time it will say "loves me". Was this the start of my fascination with random (or not random) symbolism? Or did I come into this life, still yearning for answers? It is too uncanny for me as the writer now, a weird surrealism as if that person you thought was watching you as a child was there, yet instead it is me now- spying on that child- watching from a far, an omnipotent view- Past present and future all

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