Even at age 40, I am still learning. This weekend was a prime example of that.
There were a few lighthearted occasions on each day in which The Kid–with less than five years of roaming this cruel plant–blurted out some wisdom that literally left me scratching my head in wonderment. Let’s start with Saturday.
I forget the details, but for whatever reason he was acting up to a point where Ann and I saw it fit that he be sent to his room. His demeanor was downright ugly and no matter what we said to console him, he was simply dissatisfied. So he goes into his room ranting and raving, mumbling and fumbling while Ann and I sat in the living room.
A few minutes after he weaved a blanket of what seemed to be obscenities in a foreign language, we heard him spit–in his room. He was so frustrated with the fact that he didn’t get what he wanted and being sent to his room for his behavior that he didn’t know what else to do but spit right into his pillow. I entered the room a second later and told him that spitting into that solved absolutely nothing.
He was still upset. After he had calmed down, Ann approached him and told him why what he did was wrong.
“Kid, you don’t spit into your pillow. That’s just not right,” Ann told him.
“But Mommy, I drool on my pillow at night. What’s the difference?”
She then explained the difference between involuntary and intentional. He claims to know better and has promised not to do it again, but drooling is always okay because we all do it.
Sunday’s Kid Wisdom was even more profoud. We were in the backyard doing some cleaning for his upcoming 5th Birthday Party when his dog Arliss did something stupid, which is an hourly occurrence with him. I looked at Arliss and said, “Dog, you’re not the brightest crayon in the box, are you?”
The Kid interjects.
“But Daddy, at least he’s still in the box.”
Woah, can someone please remind this kid that he’s not even five yet? Seriously, in its simplicity, how effing deep was that remark? Even though Arliss is as dumb as dirt, The Kid still sees his beloved dog as a vital, functioning part of his life. He may not get out of that crayon box too often because of his lack of intelligence, but The Kid is eternally optimistic about Arliss eventually breaking out of his bad habits and being a well-behaved dog.
You can keep analyzing that remark any way you wish, but this crayon is heading to bed knowing that in his son’s eyes, we all make a difference being in that box, no matter how little we stand out.
Here’s hoping that The Kid will bestow more of his worldly knowledge upon me tomorrow because even at age 40, it’s clear to me that I don’t even know a fraction of what really matters–at least according to the mind of a child.
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