Initially, he grasped the fundamentals: how to grin and then giggle. He picked up the art of napping, sitting, and holding a spoon. He discovered how to grasp his own toes, stick a fist in his mouth, and cling tightly to a comforting blanket. He learned to crawl, to walk, and eventually to run, jump, stretch tall like a tree, and crouch low like a lion. He made music with a ladle and a saucepan, constructed towers only to topple them, rolled a ball, and then graduated to throwing it.
How naive I was to think that learning would cease after one or two years. In reality, the journey of discovery continues every single day, indefinitely.
He has also familiarized himself with buttons and Velcro, mastered the art of brushing his teeth and flushing toilets, and learned how to put on socks, groom his hair, and shut a door without pinching his fingers.
He has experienced kisses and tears, yawns and burps, and the sensation of a bruise or a scrape. He has faced the sorrow of breaking something dear and tearing a beloved book’s page. Yet, he has already learned the power of healing.
He has begun to write his name, create drawings of houses with swirls of smoke puffing from chimneys, and engage in games like dominoes and Monopoly. He has learned to spell words like “mum,” “fun,” “sun,” and “van,” ensuring to leave a finger space between them.
He knows that fishing takes patience, washing the car is a recurring task, and cookies are far tastier when made from scratch. He has discovered that sunburn is worse than sunscreen, that face painting can be delightful, and that dogs can be gentle, birds can be beautiful, and squirrels are unlikely to steal his toys.
He has found joy in stickers, understands that every bath can fit two, and that a worthwhile party will feature sausage rolls and jelly. He has learned which herbs to snip from the garden and the proper placement of utensils at the dinner table. He has realized that sometimes it’s best not to carry the weight of worries.
He has also discovered that searching for pictures of poop online is a bad idea. He understands that good manners and a bright smile are always appreciated, that it’s perfectly fine to say no, and that distance doesn’t diminish love. He has learned that dinosaurs can be fascinating rather than frightening and that plucking lemons from his own tree is an endless delight.
He has embraced the joy of dancing and learned about ladybugs, dragonflies, spider webs, snowflakes, harmonicas, and tangerines. He knows that on tough days, stepping outside is essential, that no sea is too cold for paddling, and no rainy day is unworthy of ice cream. He has learned that a closed door signifies privacy and that he is never too young for a notebook beside his bed.
He can locate Tasmania on a world map, realizes that haircuts are quicker when he stays still, and believes that tomato soup is the ultimate remedy for a cold. He has discovered that sometimes the best gifts are found on the beach, that postcards aren’t just for vacations, and that one can never have too many books.
He understands that peas grow in pods and babies in bellies. He has encountered fireflies and thunderstorms and learned about Santa, heaven, rainbows, and hiccups. He knows it’s okay to feel sad or angry, but usually, a friend can help chase those feelings away.
He has learned that the best days begin and end with a hug in bed. He appreciates the joy of making others laugh, thinks fizzy drinks are overrated, and has found that writing poems requires considerable effort. To his dismay, he has also learned that most people don’t marry their kindergarten teacher.
He understands that wood floats while stones sink, that telling a good joke isn’t as easy as it appears, and that coloring within the lines is just one approach to creativity. He has also realized that some challenges—like wobbly teeth, insomnia, and long car rides—must be faced alone.
In just six years, he has absorbed a remarkable amount of knowledge. He continues to work on mastering zippers and scissors, swimming and skipping, and even the correct way to use capital letters. He is navigating the complexities of sharing affection and attention with others, learning to ride a bike without training wheels, and figuring out the ethics of standing on ants.
There are moments when his tiredness leads to missing his mouth with a spoonful of yogurt. He might misread lines from his home reading book and toss it in frustration. He may stomp up the stairs, grumbling under his breath.
He remains a work in progress, with much still to learn. And so am I. So are you. We all are.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the myriad lessons a young child has learned over the years, from basic skills to more complex emotional understandings. It emphasizes the continuing journey of learning, not only for the child but for everyone involved in their life.