The other evening I was at the second of four back to school nights for my kiddos (no comments please). Holden and Josi had soccer practice and my super man was out overnight on business. I had no one to watch them, so Aubry and Greyson were my mama dates for the evening. I took them to the high school with books and electronic babysitters in tow (Nintendo DS and Gameboy). Back to school night lasts hours, because the parents go on a day’s condensed rotation visiting classrooms and teachers.
My younger two were exceptionally well behaved. They were quiet and, as I found out, very fine listeners. Holden’s Spanish teacher (from Mexico) mentioned Guatemala towards the end of her class overview. Greyson could barely contain himself. I could tell that he was just busting to say something. He came over to me and whispered loudly in my ear, “Mommy, I’m from Guatemala!”
Smiling (how could I not?), I whispered back into his ear, “I know! Do you want to share that with her?”
Oh, did he ever!
He waited patiently next to her as she spoke with several parents in Spanish. He didn’t interrupt. Finally, she was available.
And he froze. She looked at me, because I was still sitting at a desk, and asked if I needed something.
“Go ahead, honey,” I told my suddenly tongue-tied overly excited son.
“Mommy, how do you say Guatemala in Spanish?”
Looking straight ahead, not at her, he said (in Spanish), “I’m from Guatemala.”
She kneeled down to his level and began to speak to him in Spanish, asking him questions about Guatemala and school. It was a joy to watch my son talk with Holden’s teacher, gaining confidence as the conversation picked up. He finally started to look at her as he talked. She was kind and encouraging. Greyson was so very proud that he could express himself in Spanish and share knowledge of his birth country. He seemed to grow before my eyes and I know inside he felt as tall as the trees.