Teaching and Learning

Saturday morning. The sound of cartoons are wafting up the stairs from where oldest grandchild is watching TV with his Papa. Earlier, when I was giving out breakfast options and mentioned oatmeal, he leaned over and said, "Me and Papa call it porridge."

Papa taught him that old fashioned word. Other than being sticklers for manners we haven't gone out of our way to teach him much of anything. That's the privilege of being his grandparents. We do entertain his questions and sometimes offer answers. We let his curiousity lead the way and follow along. It can make for an interesting ride.

Who made all the people in the world? What if somebody breaks into the house while we're sleeping?  Hey, why is it still dark outside when it's morning?  

A few weeks ago we picked up the globe and, along with the help of a YouTube video, explained why it was still dark outside at 8:30 AM. This morning I was grateful for said darkness and used it to tell him it was still night time and so he needed to go back to sleep. That garnered an extra hour of shut eye for us both.

When he was two years old he would wake up and often ask to sort through my orange bamboo bowl full of rocks. We'd sit on my bed and he'd search until he found the lone rock that was shiny smooth and shaped like a bird's egg. He would hold it carefully in his palm and tell me in a hush that there was a baby inside. Sometimes he would carefully bring it to his lips and give it a kiss before placing it back on its nest full of rocks.

One of his Saturday cartoons has, as its theme song, the Beatles' Love Is All You Need. As he was eating oatmeal porridge for breakfast while he watched, he told me that love was not ALL you need. I listened as he listed other things he thought important, too. His typical for a 5 year old reaction and literal interpretation reminded me of someone.

When his dad was growing up and we'd go for a walk, I'd tell him he couldn't fill up his pockets with rocks because those rocks belonged to the government. I wish I had said that in jest, but life was SO black and white to me back then, and my rule following ways dominated my world. I wasn't going to leave any question hanging in case anyone came to a wrong conclusion. God forbid that happened.  There's no such thing as Santa Claus. That flower you just declared breathlessly as a beautiful French Rose is a Peony. Back then I might've said, "That's a rock, not an egg. There's no baby in it."  

I've come a long ways (baby.)

I honestly believed there was merit in teaching his dad that picking up a rock from a gravel road would be stealing. As if a child picking up rocks on the road would lead to a life of thievery. Don't you wish you'd been my kid? It's not for nothing that I've seriously suggested to Dearest One that we leave our kids money for extensive therapy.

These days I have bowls of rocks here and there in the house. There's more in the yard.

A few have the word Hope chiseled into their surface.

Some of them belong to the government.