“Mommy, who is your teacher?” Tony asked me today as he watched a young lady being coached by her ice-skating teacher. This was the beginning of an interesting conversation.
“You are,” I replied.
Tony turned to me with those big, brown eyes of his.
“ME?!” He asked surprised at the answer. “How can I be your teacher?”
“You are my teacher because you teach me what new five-year-old boys are like,” I told him as I reached down to take his hand.
“Was I yours (sic) teacher when I was a baby?” He asked me innocently, and I assured him he was my teacher, even when he was a baby.
Tony thought for a brief second, and then piped up, “And you’re my teacher, because you teach me how to ice-skate!”
“That’s right,” I replied as I reached down to give him a hug. “I’m your teacher, too.”
May the lessons my son teach me never be lost in the hustle and bustle of my life.
