Tabula rasa (11 moments).
Three-year old photographer snapping frames on the backroads of the Pacific Northwest.
The entropy of aging
I’m not very good at washing hands anymore,
he announced to himself, to the world, to his parents, to everyone and no one.
I’m not very good anymore. Do I have to wash my hands after I pee now?
What kind of family has he grown up in where he thinks that you stop doing something if you’re not very good at it?
Huh?
Tabula rasa, Socrates
I want to do math now!
he announced to the household,
marching up to me and demanding his next assignment.
I’m ready, Daddy. I’m ready to do math now. Are you ready?
What if, what if,
what if
we tried hard to not shove our conceptions of what is fun and what is not fun onto children, and tried creatively, imaginatively, patiently, to frame learning as an opportunity and adventure, rather than drudgery and obligation and work and…all those other things that so sadly come to define the formal educational experience?
We can choose to show off how much we know, or we can work hard, as adults, at being blank slates and learning, absorbing, soaking in what’s around us with humility. Humility coupled with confidence; a confidence bred in the knowledge that we are capable of learning well.
Especially when we can first own up to knowing how much we don’t know.
Three
The day they look at you and decline a pencil. Because they know their older siblings aren’t using crayons and kid’s markers.
They’re using pencils. Pens. Sharpies.
So that’s what he wants. At a seasoned three. Long, sharp pencils. G2 gel pens. Sharpies, not a knock-off.
He wants the tools of production. Not kids’ versions. The real thing.
There’s a message in there somewhere, and also, there’s a thousand extra stains to get out of clothes and off various objects.
But am I am a little happy that he’s recognizing and articulating his need for the tools he feels he needs, and is willing to try learning? Yeah.
And his little brother is soaking it all in. Fast.
Four
There are certain progressions you see your kids make that stand out.
Hearing your daughter utter "oy vey" for the first time, with grin on her face, is one of those such points.
Yes, we talk politics at the table
Hey!
he queried to everyone in his raspy, giggly three-year old voice.
Do you want to play a game with me where we pretend we see Michael Bloomberg?
Six
The Skippyjon Jones series of bilingual picture books are strange, funny, and straight left-field. Weird-funny.
Seven
I have got to get fresh air,
she demanded.
Let’s go on a walk.
So we did.
Eight
What is it that is so compelling to infant-toddlers about remotes? And how do they have this innate sense of figuring out when you’re playing them by trying to pass off an old dead remote?
The one-year old…
…illegally climbed on the kitchen table.
…illegally tried on one of my favorite hats; a hat I like to think is indigenous to the Czech Republic.
…illegally tried on his Mom’s shoes - or rather, one of her shoes, making it a less transgression.
…illegally sneaked into my office and tried logging onto computer. Wrong password, sucka!
…illegally tried sneaking out the front door. Hey little bud, it helps if you know how door handles work.
…legally and semi-competently ate spaghetti for lunch, beginning with a fork and finishing with his hands.
The three-year old…
…agreed to snuggle with his younger brother to help him nap, and inadvertently fell asleep himself.
…helped teach his younger brother proper pencil-holding technique when drawing.
…provided suggestions for how his younger brother could successfully accomplish certain activities he’s struggling with, such as climbing on kitchen tables, logging into computers, sneaking outside to play in the rain, and eating spaghetti without not getting it all over your face.
The ten-year old…
…read Maurice Sendak books to his younger brothers.
…wore a tie, a vest, and my Czech hat to a Zoom class.
…taught his younger brothers how to wrestle next to a Christmas tree.
…snuggled with his mom until they both nodded off to slumber in the living room.
The thirteen-year old…
…ate cookies while doing homework by the Christmas tree.
…asked intelligent questions and engaged in intelligent discourse about the varied reasons why so many seemingly-intelligent-ish people have such paranoid, evidence-free, inconsistent positions on such topics as the 45th President and the nature of the current pandemic. Side note: again, again, I do not demand that our children agree or accept everything I say. I expect them to challenge and confront, to do so respectfully, but to understand how important it is to constantly practice learning how to follow truth, how to chase it, and how to separate facts from opinions, lies from evidence, and how to recognize the role of context, history, and source in analyzing and processing the onslaught of incoming information we’re constantly faced with. She asks questions. She challenges. She pursues knowledge and discerns the charlatans and troglodytes from the truth-tellers, truth-seekers, and those who consciously, actively hunt after truth with facts, evidence, empathy, and discernment. She is my daughter, she is fierce and I am proud.
…made us all go for a walk in the rain.
…taught her younger brothers how to maximize splashing on puddle jumps in the rain.
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