schooled

I have a problem. I never seem to leave my teacher-self behind. If we're honest we all do this. The looks we give to unruly kids in the grocery store, the smiles we share with little ones reading the signs out loud on the metro, the way we so quickly go into kid-speak when a child is near.

This afternoon my neighborhood courtyard held a small barbecue. Our four-almost-five year old neighbor had already worn out Mr. Lipstick with batting practice, and was moving on to attempt to motivate me to pitch to her despite the ridiculous heat. So, forever a teacher, I ask her if she's ever read Knuffle Bunny. We shared a brief moment of "I LOVE THAT BOOK! Me TOO!" and I asked if she had it. She did, but didn't seem thrilled when I suggested that she run to get the book instead of us playing baseball. But, after a few of my teacher-like suggestions she eventually ran off into her house to find the book.

A few minutes later she returned to the barbecue with a book, but it was NOT Knuffle Bunny.

It was Everybody Farts.

She grinned, handing me the book proudly in front of all our neighbors. "Read this one too me!" she declared, and then began turning the pages to explain the intricacies of passing gas, and making the dramatic tooting noises to go with it.

My neighbors watched our little reading adventure with amusement. Pictures were snapped. Jokes were made.

I was schooled by a four year old. That's the last time I try to bring out my teacher-self at a summer picnic.