I remember as a child staring at the sun for at least a good minute. Surprisingly, you can stare at the sun for a long time. I think I was motivated by someone telling me that you shouldn't stare into the sun - "it will hurt your eyes," they would say. I remember how bright it was, how completely white it was, how all encompassing it was. It consumed my vision, the world melted away and all there was was a white hot orb burning its reflection onto the back of my retinas.
I must be naturally paranoid or curious but I thought maybe there was something in the sun that the adults didn't want me to see, so, like a dolt I stared. I think I saw spots for about an hour afterwards. Oddly I didn't suffer any physical damage from the episode, but I do remember it vividly. I wouldn't say the memory haunts me so much as nags me.
Why, despite good and well intentioned advice did I do what I was told I shouldn't? I can only hope that when Sonia decides not to heed good advice it's "You shouldn't eat in the family room." or "Remember to brush your teeth." and not when I tell her "You shouldn't stare into the sun ."
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