I have been pondering a student’s email all morning.

Today I was observing as the machine isn’t interested in going through a process to win: it prefers winging it… Go directly to the top, or zig-zag… with no rhyme and reason.

And then… suddenly, uninvited, a series of connected memories surfaced.

The the captivating story of a 13 year old killing his abusive father, becoming a cross-dresser… pondering if homosexuality is genetic, or imprinted (brain plasticity). I think about the Royals’ sexual behavior. I think about the beautiful enchantress becoming pockmarked from smallpox… to yet another movie’s heroine, face marred with smallpox… rejected by many, and accepted by the one she loved.

And at that I cried.

The insight: the crying, came from a ‘wrong’ I experienced as a child.
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