Teaching the Teacher

As parents....we are called upon to teach.

From the time our children are born, until the day that we die, we are charged with giving them the benefit of our wisdom and our experience.

In their early years, this consists mostly of providing them with the skills they need to navigate the physical world. There are things we take for granted, things that are second nature to us, things that it seems we were born knowing.

But when children enter our lives so tiny and blank, we realize that we weren't born knowing. They weren't born knowing.

So we teach.

And those of you who have children know what an amazing thing it is to watch a baby learn even the simplest of skills. Everything seems like such a huge accomplishment. And they are demonstrably changed with each new ability. They are more human, somehow.

As they grow, the teaching becomes more difficult. The focus shifts. It becomes less about doing and more about ideation. We struggle to explain things that are not so black and white. We deal with their hurts and heartaches, their disappointment and despair.

At some point comes the realization that our job is no longer teaching them what to do, but teaching them to think for themselves.

Sometimes parenting makes us feel terribly wise. Other times, it makes us feel distressingly humble. Occasionally, it makes us feel foolish and inept. Now and then, it makes us feel downright ridiculous.

Last night, we grabbed sandwiches from Subway and gathered in front of the television to dine picnic style while watching the movie "Night at the Museum". We were all very geeked about the movie and had been anticipating it's arrival all week.

It was everything we had hoped for. It was very well done with a lot of cleverly disguised adult humor. I don't normally care for Ben Stiller or Owen Wilson, but they both seemed very well suited to their respective roles. I totally dug Robin Williams as Teddy Roosevelt.

There was one character that Husband and I couldn't immediately identify, due to the fact that he was a bronzed statue and his physical attributes were difficult to distinguish.

"Who's that supposed to be?" I asked Husband.

He shrugged. "I dunno...Sir Isaac Newton maybe?"

"No...he was English, that guy's speaking Italian."

He furrowed his brow. "Copernicus?"

"I don't think so. Copernicus was Polish. Maybe Galileo?" I guessed.

He shrugged again. "Could be."

At this point, Pre-Pubescent One interrupted and said, in a tone of long-suffering weariness heard usually in my own voice...

"MOM. It's Christopher Columbus."

"How do you know?" I demanded.

My first born child looked at me askance. "Um, the MAP?"

Sure enough, he was carrying a map, which he consulted frequently, while jabbering in his mellifluous Italian.

Oh.

Well I had to teach you to wipe your butt. So there.