My son, the Explorer

When he was about 5 or 6 years old, my youngest was in the morning session of kindergarten. I would have frequent parent-teacher meetings with his obviously frustrated kindergarten teacher. Tim was always late to school even though I made sure he was ready and left the house when I left for work. It would take him 30 minutes to an hour to walk the two blocks to school.

There were things to do, places to go, bugs to meet. He was utterly fascinated with nature. With leaves. With blades of grass. With bugs of all kinds of legs. There was never a bug he didn’t like. (Frequently they would reside in his pockets for me to discover on laundry day – dead or alive.)

He looked for four-leaf clovers and would examine hundreds of inches of lawns for that prized find. He would pet every dog and cat that came his way. Besides bugs, there was never an animal that he didn’t love. He could charm a wild animal, I am sure.

He would greet little old ladies out weeding their gardens and check their bugs. Many happily relinquishing some centipede or caterpillar or spider.

He would arrive at school with dirt on his hands and face. Teach wanted to know if I EVER gave him a bath. {sigh} She didn’t understand that the second a boy leaves the bathtub, he steps in dirt. It’s inevitable.

The thing is, where does this fascination with all of life go when we become adults? Have you ever leaped off the front porch in your business suit and pounce with joy on discovering a multicolored bug in your yard? Or gather four-leaf clovers by the handful?

We are way too serious today. It’s time to get into some dirt and play!

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