Sweets and The Arrival of Superman
Superheroes do things for us that seem beyond our reach in the moment. They have clarity of purpose and often a power that we secretly wish for in ourselves.
Daniel’s daycare instructor, Ms. Dee (abbreviated here), recently told me that distinguishing whether you are a boy or a girl is a developmental milestone, one that our two-year old son, Daniel, hasn’t quite caught on to yet.
He distinguishes males and females as “dadas” and “mamas.” Daniel has never given much thought to his peers and his identity within groups, because he is an only child; and talking about gender isn’t a big topic in our household.
When Ms. Dee asked him,
Cookies, especially small ones, remind me of Mrs. Thomas, my first piano teacher in Port Washington, Wisconsin.
By the time I was four and old enough to follow my brother, Gus, into her home to take piano lessons, she was fully white-haired. She had friendly, Mrs. Santa Claus glasses and an up-do to match. Her thin, patterned print dresses loosely swayed around her legs whenever she answered the door. She moved slowly and very intentionally to welcome us. We might have been among her youngest students, but despite the difference in age, she understood us, our motivation, and the root of our happiness.