It was 3:30 p.m. on the last day of school before winter break, but the boys hadn’t burst through the door yet, as is their custom when they race in off the bus. I looked out the window and saw them rolling around in the snow. After a bit they brought their backpacks in and let me know they were going back out to play some more. “No throwing snowballs,” I reminded them. (That game had led to tears earlier in the week.) They resorted to playing with sticks. The possibility of this ending well seemed quite small. Why do boys see nearly every object as a potential weapon?
Soon a neighbor boy got off his bus and joined the game. “Hi, Auntie!” he ran over and greeted me when I was walking to the mailbox. “I’m playing while I’m waiting for my sister’s bus.” I smiled. His smiles are contagious. And I like that he calls me “Auntie” even though we’re in not at all related. He ran back to the “stick game” and played until his big sister walked him home. Why are such occurrences of spontaneous play with the neighbors so rare?
While I was making dinner that evening, our first grader informed me that he had no homework. His teacher had told the class that this was her gift to them – no homework. My son’s take on it was, “Seriously? What kind of gift is that? I want homework.” Why can’t this enthusiasm for school last?