Learning and listening

There was an amazing sunrise this morning. I don’t know if I’ve noticed one in weeks. It was spread out across the horizon, from front yard to Thompson Avenue. It was so vibrant that Henry noticed it when he got up and came to find me and we sat on the floor in the dining room, observing. One thing he still hasn’t gotten is how to describe things. He’ll ask, Umma, what’s that? and I have no idea what he’s referring to. This requires patience on both our parts, but it’s interesting when looked at as something you slowly develop – like the way he didn’t say “me” or “mine” until he was two. He referred to himself as Henry. “That’s Henry’s ball.” Then with the two’s came the personal identification of himself as a self, and now, just days shy of four, I guess I’m awaiting his use of descriptors while marveling that this doesn’t yet come naturally to him. He talks up a storm but still isn’t quite able to identify things specifically. Or else he thinks I should simply see what he sees. What else is there but what he’s referring to or pointing at?

It’s gotten me fascinated with the way we learn – not enough so to scour the books that lay it all out, but enough to witness and note what’s going on with my grandson and to ponder it all a little bit.

I notice how I explain things to him too. Just last night, talking of his birthday, he was asked where he came from. I tell him he’s from heaven. His mom tells him he’s from her tummy. We say, “You came from heaven and arrived through your mom’s tummy.”

He told me one day that the second heaven floats.

I listen.