Fourteen years ago, when I gave birth to my daughter, I looked down into her slate colored eyes and knew, without a shred of doubt, that she would be my greatest accomplishment. I knew that it didn’t matter what I was yet to do or how long I was meant to live: she was it. And she was magnificent. Fourteen years later, I can still see that sweet infant in her face when she sleeps. Otherwise, when she is alert and upright, she looks very much like a teenage kid: partially shaved head, black tennis shoes, scowl at the ready. But she is still it, to me. She is an object of so much of my wonder, in fact, that I marvel at the basic fact that she is somehow mine.
Your kid is a marvel, too. Each and every kid is. They are astonishing in their humor, resilience, brutality, wisdom, diversity, innocence, audacity, creativity and flat-out, full-on grace. They really are. I love working with kids, and I can honestly say that I’ve never had to try to make that the case. I’ll give you an example. A child sent a picture she had drawn into our office just the other day. It was of a giraffe. He was tall and yellow and you could see his long, dark tongue. On the top of the sheet, she had written something like Geraff, and I immediately thought that it should be spelled that way. Why not? Why not change it for just one day? Sure, giraffe is good, but so is geraff. Geraff, in fact, is great.
Kids don’t spend all of their time drawing pictures for me, of course. Sometimes, they talk to me. For instance, I once had a child tell me that I was fifty when I was actually thirty-nine. One boy told me that I needed to fix my lipstick because it looked “dry.” That same boy offered me a chicken (the kind that’s still alive) and showed me his brand new “watch on a chain” with an absurd amount of pride. And why not? That watch was awesome! Another boy told me that he owned “six guitars,” which his mom said was a lie, but whatever. Marvels create realities, which are always way cooler than mine. I won’t even get into the jokes that they tell, which are hard to explain, but I can say that I laugh until I cry. Oh my, these kids. Oh my.
Oh, and I know a celebrity! I had a student win a role in a big play once. It was Cinderella, I think. At her school. And she had some lines! One kid built me a birdhouse, another brought me a donut because he heard my stomach growling, and a third gave me Irish soda bread that I declared ALL MINE! So they win things, and they give things, these kids. It’s a nice balance. One girl accidentally dumped my sand tray into her lap and said, “What was I thinking?” She looked sad for a second, but then, well, that was one of those times when we laughed until we cried. The next girl that day did a cheer for me that almost kind of rhymed. That cheer was a gift, and I loved it! Marvels make kind of amazing! Oh, and that cheer was also ALL MINE!
October is Dyslexia Awareness Month, so I thought I’d take this opportunity to make sure you stay aware of the marvel that is your child. Sure, dyslexia is real and frustrating, but dyslexia is not your child. No, your child is made of pompons and birdhouses. Your child is sweet like donuts and warm like freshly baked bread. So be sure to make someone else aware of dyslexia this month, but also be sure to laugh until you cry. And if I haven’t said it, thank you for everything, including the chicken, the watch, the six guitars, the makeup advice, the accelerated age, the brush with fame, and for making your child just the tiniest bit mine. I am grateful every single month, even when October’s long gone by.