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Sarah came running in. "Look what I found." Over the top of the paper I was reading came acrispy（易碎的）, crumbling long object that caused me to jump. It was a snake skin that had been shed by one of our many garden snakes. "Isn't it beautiful?" said my wide-eyed seven-year-old. I stared at the organic wrapper and thought to myself that it really wasn' t that beautiful, but I have learned never to appearnonchalant（冷淡的）or jaded with children. Everything they see for the first time is elementary to their sense of beauty and creativity; they see only merit and excellence in the world until educated otherwise. "Why does it do this?" Sarah asked. Robert, ever the innocent comedian, said:"We have a naked snake in our garden!" I also try to customize every opportunity to teach my children that there is almost always something beyond the obvious; that there is something else going on besides what they see in front of them. "Snakes shed their skin because they need to renew themselves," I explained. As is so often the case in my family, the original subject leads to another and another, until we are discussing something quite different. "Why do they need to renew themselves?" Sarah asked. Robert quipped:" 'Cos they don't like who they are and they want to be someone else." Sarah and I politely ignored her brother. I suddenly remembered an article on this page many years ago where the writer was expressing her concept of renewal. She used layers of paper over a wall to describe how we hide our original selves, and said that by peeling away those layers one by one, we see the underlying original beneath. | 
