Grace and Stature

We reach an age when we measure years by the stature of the children we know. Has it been six months already we gasp when we run into a friend with a new baby. Can that be that the same curly headed child that used to stand on tiptoes at the counter we ask as we look up into the face of a teenager that is now taller than we are. I ran into one of my old friends recently. We were young once. She was third grade teacher to both my daughters. Many of our family’s favorite stories from their childhood happened in her classroom; learning with her was such a gentle, joyful, communal experience. Denise also taught our son-in-law. He was five years older than my daughter and already in junior high when our daughter reached third grade. The future lovebirds were oblivious to each other in those days of pre-pubescent, elementary learning. It is magical to look back at the process of growing up with the perspective of an old person. Not only your own childhood, but also your kids’ childhoods takes on a quality of foreshadowing in retrospect as you consider the way things unfold. To our family, there is something almost time-warped about Denise’s third grade classroom now. Denise grinned affectionately and shook her head, as if in bewilderment, at the thought of those two little ones, now all grown up and creating a home together. They are perfect for each other, opposites balancing each other out by delightful design, but who knew it back then? In third grade, his gangly legs, like the sprouting limbs of all little boys tucked under a miniature desk, were jittery, stillness eluding them ever few seconds. His mind struggled to focus while he was trying not to daydream about after school adventures with his brothers. A few years later, our daughter sat in the same classroom, her eager mind soaking up history and reading, always in the moment. I can easily picture her, like so many third-grade girls, with her hand raised, eager with an answer and a joyous smile. Her younger sister followed close behind, soaking up math and science, creating soccer anthems out of hymns on the playground with a close friend who is also all grown up now. As we age, we get to teach our kiddoes to extend grace to one another in school. Because we remember our own childhood and the idiosyncrasies of the kids we shared it with, we understand how those stories unfold. My son-in-law tells me that his clearest memory of third grade was the day his dad accidentally let a rat snake loose in Denise’s classroom. They don’t pay teachers enough. Perhaps one of the best rewards of experience is knowing how some of the stories turn out. Seeing kiddoes grow in grace and stature, a reward of age. Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.