Last night I wrote. In my head. The kind of composing that goes on all the time but seldom makes it onto the page. I flit from idea to idea, story to story and back again. It’s cognitive meditation. Sifting through pieces of a life to come to a synthesis of this moment in time.
Last night I was thinking of seminal child rearing moments. The ones that are tattooed on your heart. I take them out when I feel the need. Those times in the car, on the pool deck, at the park, in the living room., in a parent conference. These ordinary times are gemstones that no one else would consider, are mine-alone moments.
Last night, I wondered about moments we store away. What is the essence of those moments? For me, it’s a scrapbook of images that conjure joy, amazement, and love. Times created by connections to another human. Maybe because of their transitory state, connections to children are particularly precious.
This week I sit down with families and students for student-led conferences. To listen to stories that flow from child to parent. To hear students tell their parents what they do well and what they need to work on. What they need help with and what their goals are. I am continually stunned at how perceptive, and confident children can be when we give them the opportunity.
As I watch students share their stories, their relationships are clear and present. Each one collecting their treasures right in front of me.
” The connections we make in the course of a life —
maybe that’s what heaven is.”
— Fred Rogers
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers for Slice of Life Tuesdays. Read more slices here.