I had lunch with Will (our eight-year-old) at school today. Here’s the conversation with the other kids at his table, as he eats his sandwich and jello:
“Mrs. Kendrick, Mrs. Kendrick, guess what? I got a girlfriend! Her name’s Desiree. Do you see her? She’s right over there!”
“I can’t eat this hotdog. My lips are all cracked and bleeding and the ketchup makes them sting.”
“My hotdog’s bun is all hardened.”
“Are you going to eat your cheese stick?”
“The only reason I got this (pointing to boxed salad) is for the Trix yogurt. And the cheese stick.”
“Mrs. Kendrick, guess what? My aunt was supposed to have a baby next month and she had him yesterday. He has red hair, just like me! My mama’s birthday is just a few days away, so they’ll have birthdays in the same month. Wanna know what I’m getting her? New makeup! She reeeeally needs it.” I am not making this up, I promise.
“Mrs. Kendrick, did you know that President Obama is the first African president?”
I correct, “African American.”
Next boy over, “Yeah, and he’s the first black president, too.”
“I’m going to eat this gross stuff. What is it?”
I peer into the plastic cup and say, “I think it’s spinach.”
Next boy over, “It looks like leaves.”
“Well, spinach leaves, then.”
First boy, “OK, here goes the first leaf. (He chews thoughtfully.) It’s not too bad. But I don’t think I can eat all ten leaves!”
Next boy says to Will, “Will, listen! Obama, Obama, Obama, Obama, mama, mama, mama, mama.” He makes a little rhythm with his words.
I throw in, “Llama, comma, drama.”
He stays with his original song, adding only llama every now and then for kicks.
Will says, “We just went to music. And recess. I made a PowerPoint about barn owls. And now I’m working on one about college football.”
I ask, “At recess?”
He says, “No,” and laughs.