Sometimes the most obvious things are the easiest things to overlook. Most of us have learned that to some degree, at some point, and hopefully, we’ve benefited from the lesson. At the moment, I’m thinking specifically of our approach to teaching our kids the real basics; things like politeness, selflessness, self-control, and being considerate of others. It’s so natural for us to go to work on instilling these traits from the get-go that we overlook a most obvious and amusing truth- in fact, the primary truth- that makes that job necessary:
The little scutters are born with absolutely none of that stuff.
I’m positive that some of you are thinking right about now that that mean old man is saying all manner of uncalled-for things about little Johnny or Janie (or, for you Southerners, little Jim-Bob or Julep). It happens to be true, though, and if you’ve ever visited a hospital nursery, you’ve seen all the proof you could ever want. When those kids get hungry, they want food 5 minutes ago, and they have no reservations about screaming their little heads off until they get their point across. Waiting their turn is rock-bottom on their priority list, and the next item up from that is the amount of inconvenience, work, or outright sacrifice it might take to meet those relentless little demands.
Now, before you decide that I’ve gone all anti-kid, let me complete my point by saying that most of us somehow manage to do an incredible job at helping those little personalities form properly. In fact, by the time school age rolls around, the transition can be almost unbelievable. What started out as a crying, wrinkled, self-absorbed, and often smelly little creature becomes a truly amazing creation in an amazingly short time.
I have been blessed with 4 absolutely delightful great-nieces, one of which has just reached kindergarten age. At a recent family dinner, I asked her how school was going. She gave a cute little shrug and said “Oh, school’s OK- it’s nothing I can’t handle”. This kid is 5 going on 35, and the air of confidence that comes with having a firm grasp on kindergarten radiates from her.
My youngest daughter, after her first day at school, answered the "How was school?" question by saying “Boring!”. When she was asked why it was boring, she said (with not an ounce of doubt) “ I already KNOW everything!”. I guess coloring inside the lines wasn’t a challenge that she considered worthy of her potential.
Believe it or not, I was more subdued on my first day of school. When the teacher asked me if I knew the alphabet, I said “No, ma’am- it’s just my first day.” I wasn’t (yet) devious enough to deliver a line like that for selfish purposes, but the teacher later told my mom that I pretty much melted her with that one. Score one for the little brown-eyed kid.
I have a theory (actually a fact to me, but a theory by the world's standards) that the human brain can only get up to about 50% speed by 7:30 in the morning. I'm living proof. In any form of research, the rules of scientific method dictate that the results must be reproducible and repeatable. Well, I can be right there, functioning at 50% every single morning, for days on end without even breaking a sweat. I rest my case.
I was in just such a stupor one morning when I stopped for gas on the way in to work. It was freezing cold, and I was zoned in and staring at the display on the pump, wondering how it could possibly take so long to get to $20.00 when gas is over 3 bucks a gallon. Suddenly, though, a little voice broke my trance.
"Ein taima abitheeth!"
Huh?
I looked down and saw this little boy of about 5 smiling broadly up at me, front teeth missing. He was apparently the grandson of the guy getting gas on the other side of the pump island. I finally put it together that he had proudly been announcing to me that he could say his ABC's, and it was obvious that he would be willing to do so at the drop of a hat. Grandpa said nothing, but just rolled his eyes as if to say "Oh, brother, here he goes again!"
I would have wanted to act suitably impressed anyway, but after seeing that reaction from Grandpa, I immediately felt compelled to see if I could take this thing to the next level. So, in my best Andy-Griffith-sounding Southern accent, I said "CAN you?" My little buddy went into a head nod like a bobblehead doll on a roller-coaster. Grandpa was now giving me a look that said, "Come on, buddy, do we have to do this?"
"Let's hear you", I said.
Grandpa let out something like a snort as the kid took in the deepest breath he could hold. He then unleashed the entire alphabet at a breakneck pace, running the letters into each other and lisping every time the missing teeth interfered. He also cranked the volume up a few decibels (which I wouldn't necessarily have thought of). When it was all over, he was breathless, eagerly looking up at me for my reaction.
"WOW!", I raved, "I've never heard anybody do it any better than that!"
He proudly marched back over to Grandpa's truck and got in, his mark made on the world for that day. Grandpa never said anything, but gave me a stern look as he replaced his gas cap. I smiled and cheerfully said, "You guys have a good one!"
As I drove on in to work, I replayed that scene in my mind, analyzing it from both Grandpa's and the kid's perspective. Honestly, Grandpa's perspective was sort of dull and depressing, so I didn’t dwell much further on it, but the kid's was fascinating.
You just get a new piece of knowledge and you want to show it off, but you know that the people you're showing it off to already know it. But if you can do it faster (and/or louder in this case), you still come off as doing it better. You've driven home the point with insurmountable force that you know the same stuff they know, only you know it better.
I don't know which is more amusing- the fact that little kids naturally process stuff this way, or the fact that a lot of us never seem to outgrow that way of thinking. You could build your own list of your favorite examples of this: politicians, infomercial announcers, salespeople - it could go on and on.
We get older, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we mature in the process. If that’s all bad, I guess I’m sunk. It’s neat, though, when we manage to change enough to recognize it in ourselves, to appreciate the fact that we’ve progressed, and to get a chuckle out of realizing where we’ve come from.
Just my thought for the day.
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