This morning began in the most unexpected and delightful way.
At 6:00 am, as the first light crept into the house, Xena, a spirited tortoiseshell cat, was busy in the corner, swatting at something on the floor. My 11-year-old granddaughter, Avery, ever curious and unafraid, decided to investigate. What she discovered was a small, wriggling millipede.
Xena, clearly disgruntled, watched as Avery gently scooped up the tiny creature with her hands. Unbothered by its many legs and wriggling form, Avery held the millipede with a sense of wonder, letting it crawl from one finger to the next. Her face lit up with curiosity, and a flood of questions followed.
"How many legs does it have?" Avery asked. "Do millipedes bite?"
We dove into a fascinating discussion. I explained that millipedes can have hundreds of legs, though not the thousand their name suggests, and that each body segment typically has two pairs of legs. We talked about their role in the ecosystem as decomposers and the harmless nature of most species. Avery soaked it all in, her curiosity a beacon of hope and inspiration.
Then she asked a question that stopped me in my tracks:
"Do millipedes feel anything?"
It wasn’t a question of biology alone; it was a profound inquiry into the nature of sentience.
After explaining sentience to Avery, she, in her delightful way, referred to sentience as “sentence with an I after the T.” I smiled, but my heart swelled with admiration for the depth of her thinking.
We ventured into the concept of sentience - what it means to feel, to experience, and to be aware. We talked about how science explores such mysteries, especially in creatures so different from us. We discussed empathy, the ability to recognize and respond to the feelings of others, and how it connects us to the world around us.
This simple encounter with a millipede became a springboard for discussions about curiosity, conservation, and kindness. I shared with Avery how her willingness to ask questions and care for even the smallest creatures could inspire others to think differently about the natural world.
As if this wasn’t enough to fill my heart, Avery added the perfect touch to the morning. After our conversation, she carried the millipede outside to release it, and in her gentlest voice said, "There you go, Jimmy. Enjoy your life."
I melted. Her simple act of naming the millipede, and her kindness in returning it to the outdoors, spoke volumes about her empathy and awareness.
In that moment, I saw not just my granddaughter, but the future -
a future filled with curiosity, compassion, and
respect for all living things.
This small encounter reminded me of how much we can learn from children like Avery. Her innate wonder and the profound questions she asked transformed an ordinary Monday morning into an extraordinary moment of connection and learning.
Avery, if you ever read this, know that I am so proud of you. Keep asking magnificent questions, cherishing every creature you meet, and carrying the spark of curiosity and empathy wherever you go.
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