So, last night I had my first official Kindergarten information night. I say official, because I have never had to do it with any of my older kids. There was no information night with Tristan. He went to a private school and we signed up late. India went to Montessori and it was just part of the natural flow of the schooling. I somehow felt like a fish out of water. And seriously, I could sense the competitiveness among these people. The sideways glances from father’s, sizing up their competition. The questions concerning the level of academic standards and how they compare to the State of Michigan’s standards. Blah, blah, blah…This is kid #3. If he’s smart we will all know and push him to go further. If he’s not, well, we will sit with him every night, working with him to keep him up with the rest of the kids.
One thing I know, for sure, is that regardless of how we all have done academically, its not my International Lit grade that taught me how to be kind to others, it was not my grade in math, (thank God!) , that taught me how to give to the less fortunate and its not about how well I did on a spelling bee that gave me the courage to participate in the first place. Character is not taught out of a book, nor is it manipulated through countless mental exercises about Dick and Jane and their dog spot, but rather something that grows and develops. It starts when we are born, its what we are shown through the actions of others and the love we are given that creates within us the desire to be and do good.
Little Rowen was born with rolls of character.
Lots of rolls.
All the way down to his crazy big toes. My shlubby, Buddha boy, PorkChop, Tobs, RoRo-whatever we call him. He is almost always smiling. Always wants to go to IKEA for meatballs, or McDonald’s for chocolate milk. He likes to act like a piece of machinery that makes mechanical noises when you help him get dressed-like a robot, “insert leg! ppssshhhhh. Beep. Beep. Beep. Insert other leg….” But one of my favorite things about Rowen is his attitude. He likes to bring a chair up next to the counter while I am making dinner, or better yet, making cookies, and encourage me and tell me, “Wow mom! That’s great! You did a good job!” Then he refuses to eat dinner. Maybe he’s just a really good liar….
Whatever is the case, he encourages everyone around him and takes an amazing sense of joy out of the simplest things. When I grow up, I want to be more like him.