First, he grasped the primary skills: how to smile and giggle. He learned how to sleep soundly, sit upright, and wield a spoon. He discovered how to reach for his toes, shove his fist into his mouth, and hold onto a blanket tightly when comfort was needed. He progressed to crawling, walking, and eventually running; he learned to jump, stretch like a tree, and crouch low like a lion. He found joy in making sounds with pots and ladles, constructing towers only to topple them, and rolling or tossing balls.
How naive I was to think his learning journey would conclude at one or two years. The education continues, every single day, indefinitely.
He has explored the intricacies of buttons and Velcro, the importance of dental hygiene, and the mechanics of flushing toilets. He has mastered putting on socks, brushing his hair, and how to close doors without pinching fingers.
He has experienced the spectrum of emotions from kisses to tears, yawns to burps, and the necessity of blowing his nose. He has felt the sting of a bruise, the sadness of breaking something cherished, and the sadness of tearing a page from a beloved book. He has also learned how to heal.
He has learned to write his name, sketch houses with delicate curls of smoke escaping from chimneys, and engage in games like dominoes and Monopoly. He has even learned to spell simple words like “mum,” “fun,” “sun,” and “van,” ensuring to leave a finger space between them.
He has discovered that fishing demands patience, that washing the car is a recurring task, and that cookies are tastier when baked by oneself. He knows that sunburn is more painful than applying sunscreen, that face paints can be entertaining, and that dogs can be gentle while birds are often beautiful. He has learned that squirrels are unlikely to steal his toys.
He understands that few things in life are more delightful than stickers, that every bath can accommodate two, and that any enjoyable gathering will feature sausage rolls and jelly. He knows which herbs to snip from the garden and that the fork is meant to be on the left while the knife goes on the right. He has learned that sometimes, it’s not his responsibility to worry.
He has also come to grips with the reality that searching for pictures of poop on the internet is not wise. He understands that good manners and a warm smile are always appreciated, that it’s acceptable to say no, and that distance doesn’t diminish love. He finds dinosaurs fascinating rather than frightening and enjoys picking lemons from his own tree.
He has found joy in dancing and has learned about ladybugs and dragonflies, spiderwebs and snowflakes, harmonicas and tangerines, and even the essence of salt. He has learned that on tough days, stepping outside can be refreshing, that no sea is too cold for splashing, and no rainy day is too dreary for ice cream. He understands that a closed door signifies privacy and that one is never too young to keep a notebook bedside.
He can identify Tasmania on a world map, knows that haircuts go more smoothly without fidgeting, and that tomato soup can work wonders for a cold. He has learned that some of the best gifts are the ones collected from the beach, that postcards aren’t limited to vacations, and that there’s no such thing as having too many books.
He understands that peas grow in pods while babies develop in bellies. He has learned about fireflies and thunderstorms, Santa Claus, heaven, rainbows, and hiccups. He recognizes that feeling sad or angry is part of life, but a friend’s presence often helps alleviate those feelings.
He has discovered that the best days begin and end with a hug in bed. He knows that making others laugh is rewarding, that fizzy drinks are overrated, and that writing poetry requires dedication. Much to his dismay, he has also learned that most people do not marry their kindergarten teachers.
He understands the distinction between floating wood and sinking stones, realizes that delivering a good joke takes skill, and recognizes that coloring within the lines is merely one approach to creativity. He is aware that some challenges—like loose teeth, sleepless nights, and long car rides—must be faced independently.
At just six years old, he has absorbed an impressive amount of knowledge. He is still refining his skills with zippers and scissors, swimming and skipping, using erasers, tying shoelaces, and enjoying kiwi fruit. He is working on understanding hard cheeses and celery and correctly placing capital letters in sentences. He is learning to share both attention and affection, to ride a bike without training wheels, and to navigate the ethics of standing on ants.
Occasionally, when fatigue sets in, he might miss his mouth with a spoonful of yogurt, misread lines from his home reading book, or throw it in frustration. He may stomp upstairs and mutter under his breath.
He is undoubtedly a work in progress, with much still to learn.
But so am I. So are you. So are we all.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the myriad lessons a young child learns in just six years, emphasizing that the learning journey is ongoing for both the child and the parent. From basic skills to emotional understanding, every experience contributes to growth.
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