A couple of weeks ago, two of my grandchildren, Aiden and Rebecca, began kindergarten. It was heart wrenching for me to see them flung into the big world. They seemed so small, so vulnerable. Well, I’m here to report that they are doing well and negotiating their new environments with all the sharply honed skills of CIA operatives in training. Especially Aiden, for whom I was most concerned. He has been observing his peers, learning the subculture of school, and figuring out how to crack the system all in his first week.
Aiden has an October birthday, so he is still four years old. He’s a little smaller than the other kids, but has charm and intelligence, a winning smile with a gorgeous dimple, and beautiful, light blue eyes. I know he can get anything he wants out of me. The first day of school all went well. Aiden went to the after-school program for a few hours, found the bathroom, ate his lunch, and made friends with a beauty named Ella.
The second day, however, his lunch disappeared. He had enough guts to tell the teacher, he didn’t suffer in silence, which is good. He spoke up for himself. The adults went into protective mode. He was personally walked down to the cafeteria, an account was set up, and not only that, the cafeteria lady said with a smile, “Honey, would you like regular or chocolate milk?”
Aiden was in heaven. Why, only his grandma had given him chocolate milk! Mac and cheese, pizza, corn dogs, chocolate milk—for crying out loud! A whole new world opened up for him. He went home and told his parents, “Do you know they have a restaurant for kids at the school?”
Day three. Aiden has his lunch with him, but he’s thinking to himself, “How do I get back to that wonderful place?” So what he did was: he ate his lunch and his snack at morning snack time. Again he was walked down to the cafeteria, ordered lunch and chocolate milk and put it on his parents’ tab.
His explanation was that he had to do it; his lunch was gone already. The good news is this: he is still innocent enough to confess, but it won’t work a second time. I think he’s going to be just fine.