Today, more a story than a philosophical reflection: a couple of days ago at the local community library, Helena and I spent close to an hour looking for books for her. As always, she loves to sort through every book on the shelf, transferring them to the table, paging through each one, and then choosing a couple that she likes. At the end of the time, we moved to the back of the library to play hide and seek among the shelves (not many of them, because the library is only a couple of years old, and the only books are ones donated by people from the neighborhood). After a couple of minutes of "where's the baby?" "Oh, there's the baby!", Helena moved toward a shelf at the back.
"O!" she called out, in the voice she uses for her most exciting discoveries: the monkeys coming by the house in the afternoon, her favorite carved jaguar found under a table, a new hat made by her mom. The "O!" again. I walked over to see her pointing to a magazine on the bottom shelf.Her index finger touched the forehead of a photo of Michel Foucault.
Yes, a proud, proud moment.
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