Everyone is Human
My 3 year-old daughter calls everyone "human."
Man, woman, child. Different race. Different age. Short. Tall. Stranger. Acquaintance. Doesn't mater.
And I have to say, I find it completely delightful because the word "human" feels so inclusive, respectful and dignified when referring to personhood.
We will be walking down the street, and she will see a person riding a bicycle, working in their garden, or playing basketball, and with total egalitarianism for each and every person, will say, "look at that human!"
We have a children's book that she likes to read over and over that she has to guess what is behind each flap on the following page.
Her answer is always: "A human."
Even after she sees this picture:
Even after her older brother reads the word "eskimo" aloud.
I know that she will soon begin to replace "human" for pronouns, descriptions about appearance, and even just "person" or "people."
But in the meantime...everyone is human.
Which Way to Die?
This past week I watched the 2012 film, The Life of Pi.
It was on On Demand, and having small children that tends to be the only way I get through an entire movie because I can watch 30 minutes, get interrupted, and then resume watching hours later.
One morning though, my 8 year-old son asked me to tell him about the movie I was watching.
For those readers who have not yet seen the movie, I will try not to spoil it because for me it definitely was a must-see.
But I will tell you, what I told him, or asked him I should say.
Well, it is a story about a teenage boy who is stuck in a row boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean miles from any land. And on the row boat with the boy is a huge tiger! And there are sharks swimming all around the row boat.
So, I asked my son, what do you think the boy should do?
My son being my son, first paused quietly to take in the information. Then he asked questions to review and confirm the facts.
So, he is in the middle of the ocean? And so forth. Then, he took a second pause.
After a moment, my 8 year-old looked up at me, and said completely matter of factly: I guess he will have to decide which way to die.
Hugh, I thought, that isn't where I thought he would land...But, I went with it.
So, how does the boy decide to die?
My son paused again, his third up to this point. Then he said: By the sharks.
Why the sharks? I asked him.
Because tigers are endangered. And if people heard a news story about a teenage boy being eaten by a tiger, they might get mad and try to kill more tigers. But, if people heard a teenage boy was eaten by sharks, because sharks do that all the time, people wouldn't try to kill more sharks. And if they did, there are more sharks still in the world.
Now I was the one to pause. Dumbfounded. Mouth hanging open.
Still looking at me expectantly, I knew I had to respond to him with something parental.
Finally, I came up with an inarticulate: Okay, good answer. I wouldn't have thought of all that myself.
My son didn't say anything more, and walked on.
Equanimity
Last winter my family went through a month of back-to-back-to-back illnesses.
Nothing major- with the exception of the Lyme Disease scare.
But by the end of the 4th flu diagnosis and the 6th day I had to call out of work, I was beginning to lose my you-know-what.
And in one particular moment, I was also doing a less than terrific job of camouflaging this meltdown in front of my 3year-old daughter.
However, rather than melting down right along with me because she was feeling vulnerable and crumby too, instead, she imparted this bit of wisdom to me in the most calm and relaxed manner:
Sometimes I'm sick. Sometimes I'm better. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. That's how it goes.
Well, I thought, there you go. Equanimity en vivo.
Nuff said.
Good Enough
There are many times throughout the day when I feel stretched too thin and in too many directions.
For example, I want to be there for my children to meet their physical and emotional needs. While at the same time I want to perform well at my job and do meaningful work. While at the same time I have a strong desire to better myself as a person. All the while, wanting to be a partner and friend to my husband, with the added responsibility of managing some of the affairs of my parents and in-laws.
And sometimes, when I don't "succeed," I just feel so defeated.
As a person with just a touch (or more) of perfectionism, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to see how my goal to juggle all of these balls at the same time could be a recipe for disaster when, at the end of the day, I don't feel like a success.
Well, just recently on one of those days when I happened to be dropping a lot of those ball all at once, I groaned out loud to my 8 year-old son who happened to be my only witness at the time:
You know how it is when your best is not good enough?
I had said the statement more rhetorically, not intending a discussion (or an answer) from a 3rd grader.
But my son took in my statement/question, knit his eyebrows together to show me that he was seriously considering what I had asked, and then came back with this very matter-of-fact response:
No, I don't. Your best is always good enough.
Wow, I thought. That is not the message I received, and not the tape I continue to play and replay in my head.
So there we are. Little Zen Teachers.
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