What Kids Know
Children are amazing. They often
aren’t credited for knowing much. As a high school teacher, I enjoyed seeing
students’ faces light up when, after discussing a historical event, they made a
connection to a present day news story. In Baggage
Burdens., I gave Jill that same pleasure when she, as a single
parent, tells her children that they have to rake the leaves today. While her
children’s response surprises her, Amber’s
insight into how their father drafted them to work around the farm is
wonderful to hear. A second example shows the depth that Amber understands her father when she sees him gazing on his
deceased uncle’s oak tree.
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The next morning after
everyone’s finished breakfast; Jill announces that the family will begin by
raking leaves.
“Oh boy!” responds Matt.
“Oh boy?” Jill can’t
believe her ears.
“It’s fun,” explains Sarah.
“We make a huge pile of leaves in the middle of the garden.”
“And we race our bikes
through it,” adds Matt.
“Or we pile the leaves up
and jump into it,” continues Sarah.
“Yeh,” says Matt
enthusiastically.
“Or we burry you in the
leaves,” adds Amber laughing at the prospect of covering her brother up again
this year.
“You’re kidding!” Jill’s
shocked.
“Dad always lets us do
that,” says Sarah.
“How do you think he sucks
all of us into helping him,” explains Amber.
(When
Joseph contemplated moving off the farm)
Joseph’s eye catches the top half of the oak tree beyond the
garage, near the edge of the family garden. It was as if his Uncle Mike called
him. Uncle Mike had planted that tree when he first moved on to the farm.
Joseph strolls to it. Seeing a significant new growth always made Joseph proud
of Mike.
“May this tree always be a testimony to my life here,” Mike
said when Joseph visited him. Memories of Mike’s dreams for his farm return. As
Joseph nears the oak, he turns to the weeping birch. Imitating Mike, after his
uncle died Joseph planted the weeping birch on the opposite side of the garden.
The trees helped Joseph during his grieving.
(When Joseph visits the farm he used to
live on)
When Amber stands beside her father, he points to the two
trees and water dripping from the leaves. “See.” He pauses. “They’re crying.
They’re happy to see me.”
Amber looks at the glistening water droplets falling from
the leaves.
“They miss me.” Joseph’s voice is so low that Amber checks
to see what causes her father’s unexpected response. She notices little droplets
tracing down his face.
“You’re right Dad,” she says quietly, wrapping her arm
around her father’s waist. ‘You miss them too.’
Amber’s insight surprises her parents. As a parent I can say, “sound
familiar?”
a haiku capsule
unseen
observer
accumulates
evidence,
child’s insight astounds
My next blog shows
unexpectedly love surfaces.
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