Learning accompanies a forgetting

I'm reading a book at the moment Through the eyes of a child: New insights in theology from a child's perspective (ed Anne Richards and Peter Privett). On page 25, in an article called 'Nakedness and vulnerability', by Anne Richards, we are introduced to Jude, a 3 year old, playing with dinosaurs.

The dinosaurs are in a circle. They are having a fight. Raaaaaaargh! Then they go over here and talk about their toys.

I am reminded of a little boy I know, who plays with cars like this. The first few times I watched him play with his cars, he was pre-verbal, and I just watched him. I remember driving a car up and down his arm, which made him smile. Now that he is talking, I can hear that the cars do all sorts of things, including going shopping, and waiting for grandma. Imaginative things. I watched another little boy today doing similar things. The cars weren't cars, exactly. They were... friends, perhaps.

Jude's dinosaurs, and my friend's cars, do what their owner, the child is doing. Imagination fills in the gaps in the child's knowledge.

In time, adults tell Jude what dinosaurs really do, what this one is really called, what they eat, etc. And over time, Jude's new knowledge takes over from his old knowledge. One day, too, my friend is going to know that there are Holdens and Fords, and such things, and what all the parts of the engine do. And then, they won't wait for grandma anymore.

Learning... also accompanies a forgetting, but being in the midst of children can remind us forcibly of how much we have forgotten. 

We might have forgotten what it was like to hear a particular story for the first time, or what it was like the first time we saw the stars in the country, or what it was like the first time we understood the ridiculous injustice of the death of Jesus.

But if we surround ourselves with children, and really listen to them, perhaps we can get close enough to remember what it is that we have forgotten.