On Friday mornings (every other week), I go to my son Collin’s elementary school to volunteer in his kindergarten class. This makes me feel like my academic life has not totally taken over my important life: raising two boys. I do a variety of odd jobs for his teacher to make life easier for her; inevitably, it makes me feel really good about myself. Today, my job was to take down the children’s art work on a bulletin board and replace it with their drawings and accompanying statements declaring what they are thankful for. Well, as I went carefully through the pile placing tape on the back of each drawing and aligning it in a perfectly balanced 90 degree angle in relation to the edge of the board, I read the children’s declarations. The range went something like this:

“I am thankful for my dog.”

“I am thankful for my mom who is pregnant with my baby sister.”

“I am thankful for my family.”

Etc.

Then, I came to Collin’s. As an overly adoring mother, of course I new his would be the most brilliant. When I read the text, I was breathless. “I am thankful for people who are different.” I guess all the children’s books I have tracked down on disabilities (The Sounds of Colors), enviromental causes (The Lorax, for example), etc. had paid off. I immediately wanted to credit myself with this successful indoctrination strategy that had resulted in this amazing insight by my five year old (who I began to imagine as a future social activist, of course). Then, I remembered that he is always sensative, and I wept when I left the school.