Shawn Joaquin has become a child of insatiable curiosity, much like Rudyard Kipling's Elephant's Child. Unlike the Elephant's Child, I do not feel a need to spank Shawn Joaquin for his curiosity, though there are times I want to smack my own self into oblivion to avoid answering his steady stream of questions. Yesterday, on our 15 minute ride between school and home, I was asked:
"What is outside of the planet? Is it dark? What happens if you fall off the earth? How do you TALK? Do have things inside your ears that go round and round so you can hear stuff? What is this thing on my ear? Marisol and Nyeli want to know. What numbers do you use to call the police? What are the circles that make you walk like this [mimicking the perp walk] that police use? Is it just for bad guys? Who lives in a haunted house? If something is in your imagination, can it get out? Do pirates live in the world? OUR world? Right here? What is a POEM? Is it like a story but you say it really slowly? Did you know trash KILLS things? Did you know Barack Obama is the PRESIDENT? And everyone in the whole world is happy about it? When does..."
It's ironic that only weeks ago we were concerned that Shawn Joaquin had some pervasive development disorder, a worry blasted to oblivion by his slew of cognitive and psychological tests and an amused psychologist. She told us we had nothing to worry about other than his exceptional creative problem solving that may lead him to outfox us on multiple occasions.
Later that night, we looked up pictures of vocal chords and put our hands on our throats to feel the vibration. I showed him 911 on the phone. I tried to explain skin tags. We watched the presentation of the inaugural poem on television...which was indeed read very slowly. We went through the trash to make sure no recycling had ended up amongst those things destined for landfill. We talked about the difference between "ghostesses" and goblins and how while your imagination is always with you, nothing can actually "escape" from it.
By 7pm I was ready to curl up into a fetal position and talk to no one and watch something mindless on TV and perhaps fall asleep to the opening credits. Shawn Joaquin, however, wanted to watch Househunters International with me - one of our odd, endearing shared interests. We watched an episode set in Roatan, Honduras. Shawn Joaquin has the uncanny knack of correctly guessing which house the show's guests will choose, and is often quite intent on listening to all of the home's virtues extolled by the local realtor. He is a fan of granite countertops, soaking tubs and stainless steel appliances, and has on more than one occasion shouted "wow, look at that view!" But last night he was distracted by the locale, in which he suddenly realized that people were speaking Spanish. Suddenly granite countertops were not of interest, and instead he wanted to know about who built the house...did they speak Spanish...what is an island...what is island "craftership"...have I been to this island...was that a shark in the water or a rock....
I know that being the best parent I can be means being present, consciously parenting as much as possible. Finding teachable moments throughout the day and showing respect for the blossoming personality and mind of your highly intelligent, sweet and creative child. But sometimes parenting also means telling your child in a firm but loving voice "BE QUIET NOW. If you don't stop talking you will have to go to bed immediately and talk to your lion puppet, because I can't answer one more question today without going INSANE." And being a child, MY child, means saying sweetly "yes, Mama. I love you" and being quiet for three full minutes before whispering "see that woods over there? I bet monkeys live there. And maybe they have one GREEN eye and ONE white eye and..."
He can't stop himself from wondering. He is, after all, my child.
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