LINDEMAN: What I Learn from My Kids

By BRUCE LINDEMAN
Cape Charles Wave

Thanksgiving Day, 2012

As parents, we typically focus on what we can teach our kids.  We only have them for a few, brief years before, poof!  They’re gone.

But one thing has pleasantly surprised me during our twins’ nine years on this planet: they teach me things every day.

It may not be something new, but something I somehow forgot or misplaced.

I believe you don’t actually forget most things altogether. You subconsciously place them in memory somewhere back where you keep things like memories of your wedding from 20-plus years ago.  It’s there.

You just have to rummage through a bunch of other stuff before you find it.  “Ah!  There you are forgotten memory! So glad to think of you again. How’ve you been?!”

You psychologists out there please don’t take me to task on the above. This is my take on how it happens.  As they say, it’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

My kids teach me new songs that they’ve learned in school — new takes on the smart-aleck ditties of my youth and some completely new. I learn new pop songs from them –- music I would never even think of to listen to.

“What is that?  You call that music?! Back in my day . . . .”

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Of course, that’s what we say. It’s what our parents told us and what our kids will tell their kids one day.

It’s like grandpa’s old watch that gets handed down time and again. No one really wears it. But it’s our duty to pass it down just the same.

Our kids teach us new games.  We play one in the car, where the first one to see a yellow car yells “Bingo!”  You get points for each yellow car you claim.

My siblings and I played similar games back in the day to pass the miles.  Of course, there’s the typical, “No, I saw it first!”  “No, you didn’t –- I did!”  Siblings.  Oye.

Most importantly, I learn how smart and intuitive they are, even at the age of 9. They delight in telling me something I may not already know and then they look at me incredulously and say, “What, you didn’t know THAT?”

Geesh, give an old guy a break.

The first time my son somewhat legitimately beat me in chess was pretty cool.  Maybe I didn’t play all out, but he had learned the moves for each different piece on the board almost immediately. Then, he beat me!

The nerve of that kid.

This other weekend he even beat me with a surprised “checkmate.”  When he said it, he looked at me as if to say, “Is that right?”

I repeat: the nerve of that kid.

What I thoroughly enjoy, however, is how they delight in learning something new.  The greatest thing about being a kid (from a parent’s perspective, of course) is how everything new is, well, new.

It’s exciting. A new fact, flashlight, game, toy car, stuffed animal, and mostly, a new experience — nothing beats doing something for the first time as a kid.

I remember the first time we saw the flying boat down at the beach.  You know what I’m talking about — the Frankenstein of boats/planes. Every school boy’s fantasy.  A bona fide flying boat.

It’s actually a Zodiac-type inflatable with a hang gliding-type harness strapped to it.

And then there’s the matter of a small gasoline engine powering a propeller mounted directly behind the pilot’s head.

Did I mention the “Experimental” sign affixed to the bow of the thing?

Yeah, it’s a Rube Goldberg contraption if I ever saw one.  But, doggone is it cool.

That first day we saw it, we had walked on to the wooden pier leading to the beach at the end of Tazewell. It was not warm enough to go in the water. But it was apparently great weather to fly a boat. (I still struggle writing that.)

Our kids stood there with their mouths agape trying to take in what they were seeing. I watched the flying boat. I watched them.  As much as I wanted to take in this crazy thing zipping by down the beach from Hoffler’s Point, I was more stuck on how they were reacting. I love those moments.

The best parenting suggestion when those things happen, I learned, is to be still and simply observe. Don’t get in the way. Let the thing happen so they can fully experience it. Save your teaching moments for later.

It’s hard to do, but stepping in and talking at a critical point in the event is like someone stepping in front of the television during a climatic scene in a movie you’re watching.

“Get out of the way, you knucklehead! Can’t you see I’m watch . . . . Ah, geesh — what just happened? Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

As I goof around town these days, I continuously force myself to slow down and observe the world as my kids do. It’s hard. I’m older, cynical, hardened, and not quite as curious anymore.

It really takes something out of the ordinary to get my attention. But there’s so much beauty in life that we toss off because we don’t take the time to see it. The newness of life has long ago worn off.

If you want to have a really good day, walk out of your house and take a walk. Early in the morning, I think is best — before the world has completely woken up, except for the birds and other critters. They’re not nearly as lazy as us humans.

Walk around town. Walk down to the beach. Plop down.  And just observe. And listen.

Close your eyes. Hear the gentle rolling surf. Listen to the gulls and other shore birds as they fly about, squawking, searching for food. Hear the dune grass behind you swaying to the breeze. Take it all in for a good, long while.

On your walk back to your house, try to notice as many flowers as you can. Notice the leaves in the trees changing color. Run your hand along a sprig of a neighbor’s rosemary bush.

That smell! Ah, that sweet smell that reminds me of my mom’s cooking.

Delight in it all and try to live that moment like a child.

It’s good stuff. Really good stuff.