These lines are the opening lines of a letter written by Roel's cousin Boudewijn. Boudewijn has always had a great passion for the outdoors and the rural life. He also has a deep desire to work with disabled people. Since he is a person that follows his passions, he worked for many years on a farm where a number of mentally disabled children lived with him and his family.

The lines above express the deep love Boudewijn has for his “pupils,” as he calls them. But these lines also powerfully express a joy of life in these children, including their joy of learning and an irresistible urge to play. The “twinkle of mischief” in their eyes refers to a spark, a beam of light, something that both illuminates and prompts unexpected action or “mischief.” This type of mischief ignores limitations in the form of rules set by others or by “common” knowledge. Boudewijn also mentions the children's triumph and elation as a new task is mastered. They have a drive to learn and experience deep joy from mastery. This joy is not only fueled by the satisfaction of learning a new thing, but perhaps more importantly it comes from a sense of accomplishment from going beyond previous limitations. The children's “wicked” grins are playful and suggest the willingness to do something with abandon, to be completely absorbed by it.

This is what children do: they explore, they play, they locate boundaries, and then go beyond them. Children are the natural explorers of the world. We tell this story about Boudewijn's pupils because it beautifully encapsulates why we believe curiosity is such an important character trait for scientists. Curiosity, as we think of it, is fundamentally a form of delight. When practiced as a form of delight, curiosity also becomes an effective antidote for the most common ills that beset the academic scientist: getting stuck, feeling anxious, and feeling isolated.