I don’t really remember how long ago this particular story took place. I was probably around 11.
Like many children I ran into the dreaded Rubic’s cube more than once. Many of my friends would fiddle with them throughout the years. When I would visit my birth mother, she had one in her apartment, and I would try my best to make it complete.
But I was never able to actually do anything beyond maybe one side. It was a hard life. Once I dropped it and it broke into pieces, when I put it back together I made sure to make it complete, so it wouldn’t mess things up trying to solve it later. I was bummed I had to loose all my “progress.”
One day, thanks to the power of the internet, I slowly learned the methods to solving the cube. I spent weeks memorizing scenarios and moves, hoping muscle memory would kick in. I would sit upstairs and mess with it afterschool hoping to get somewhere.
Then it finally happened. I got down to the last bit of solving. My adrenaline was pumping, and I was thirsty for victory. I spun the sides one by one until finally, I looked down to a solved cube. It was breathtaking. Then the panic began to set in. You would have thought I was holding the holy grail its self. I had to share it, I had to share it right then!
I ran downstairs to find my dad and held out the sacred treasure in my possession. He looked at it, looked back at me and said, “cool.” Cool? COOL? I had practically solved all the worlds problems. I single handedly solved the biggest mystery of the universe, and you give me “cool.” I could have shaken him.
I guess in all reality it probably wasn’t that impressive to him. He had probably seen one completed before. But It was still kind of sad to feel like I hadn’t done something impressive. To this day I still remember most of how to solve the cube, but I can’t remember the last step, probably because of the lackluster praise from that day.