Even when he was a toddler, I could tell that our son had a gift for spatial reasoning, but the actual fixing of broken objects started when he was about six. I was mowing the backyard and hit a hillock hard. The lawnmower stopped short and a wheel tipped sideways.
I was a woman bent on finishing a task. I called for my husband. He was out. My son came out and looked at the lawn mower.
“Just flip it over, Mama, I’ll fix it.” And he did.
From that point on, I started doing what I had done when I was a little girl with a broken toy, but now, instead of giving a broken toy to my father to repair, I shuffle my feet and hold the broken item, electronic or mechanical, out to my son, or I put it on my husband’s desk, a parking lot of items to be fixed.
Today, weeks after Daylight’s Savings, the car clock was still an hour behind. I matured a bit in a moment, sighed, and pressed the “select/reset” button on the car controls: I successfully brought the clock, and a bit of myself, up to date.