A Graduate Is Made

Across the nation around the U.S. Memorial Day holiday, graduates are made by the cartload. Naturally, there's the obvious: College graduates, doctors and masters of their specialties, and high school graduates. In recent years, there appears to be a trend for even more types of graduates: junior college graduates, junior high school graduates, middle school graduates, elementary school graduates and kindergarten graduates. I do not come to speak to you of these events. Instead, I speak to you of the very first graduation of all because, yes, graduation can start even younger than kindergarten and age 5. I bring your attention to: preschool graduation.

Mock preschool graduation if you must (go ahead, I do it too), but all the eye rolling in the world doesn't erase the fact that preschool graduates are pretty darn cute. To wit, I offer you Hesperos, preschool graduate (lettered in finger painting, tire swing, and bubble blowing; distinction in letters with high honors in learning how to read; honorable mention in basic arithmetic).

Preschool graduation is about as celebratory as it gets without alcohol (although some parents may indulge after the fact on behalf of their children). There's no cap throwing and I assure you that the children are clothed under their gowns. But there is a lot of cake eating, signing of songs, and even diplomas, not to mention the artfully created construction paper mortar boards complete with Shrinky Dink 2011 on a tassel.

For Hesperos, the celebration was not so much about accomplishments past. Like any bright-eyed child of tomorrow, he was looking forward. Specifically, toward kindergarten where he will finally get to attend the 'big kid school' with his older brother a couple doors away. Hesperos is fully prepared to rush in and embrace his new teachers and classmates with a big chubby-armed hug -- a level of enthusiasm that I certainly didn't display when I started graduate school. But I didn't get a construction paper mortar board either.

Reading Deja Vu

Two boys, two years apart, same milestones. In 2008, we shared Helios' reading accomplishments as he suspensefully told us the story of a cat on a rug. (Was it a Dr. Seuss cat? A T.S. Eliot Jellicle cat? Perhaps the Cheshire cat? Who knows?!) Now, in late 2010, we can show Hesperos sharing in the same accomplishment.

Hesperos has been a tough nut to crack. Unlike Helios, he wasn't inclined to sit still long enough to make it through the initial lessons so we weren't able to start until several months after we'd hoped. Now, his reading lessons still include many bounces and hops, and they're rarely held without his monkey (Munk) in attendance. Munk can't read, but apparently he likes to listen.

But Hesperos is making progress and we're well on our way to having him be a good reader by the time kindergarten begins in September.

So here is Hesperos -- reading a different lesson from the same book about the same cat Helios told us about two years ago. The insightful analytical questions are asked by Mommy.

"A little cat can sit on a rug. She can run in the sand. She can lick a man. She will lick me."

Learning from Selling Raffle Tickets

Okay. In my world, there's really no joy in raffle ticket selling. But, because it's important for Helios' school, we do it. On behalf of his small private school, Helios sold raffle tickets for several weeks. We reached out to our family and friends, inviting them to participate and many have generously supported Helios' efforts. Helios, however, is competitive and he wants to sell more in hopes he'll be one of the top 10 sellers and win a prize. So, one afternoon we took advantage of an opportunity to sit outside a local grocery store to sell tickets.

My feelings are quite mixed when it comes to having our children sell things on behalf of the school. Although the most successful children do directly benefit through winning prizes, we would arguably rather pay higher tuition or do it ourselves rather than have the children do it. I'm not sure what is behind my prejudice except it probably is a combination of the way I was raised (my parents were dead set against children ever selling) and a preference that children spend time...you know...learning. Not selling, in spite of how cute they may be behind a table.

That said, Helios wanted to sell so we helped create those opportunities for him. And I was quite inspired, to be honest. Here is a 6-year-old little boy who, without fear, boldly approaches strangers who barely acknowledge his existence and politely asks, "excuse me, may I tell you about my school's raffle?" No matter what response he receives, whether someone ignores him entirely or simply declines, Helios promptly replies with, "thank you for your time."

Sure, Helios was coached in how to be polite and what to say. We figure if he wants the prize, he's actually going to do the selling, not the parents. And we're not going to passively sell by sitting behind a table - we're going to actively sell by engaging with others. So Helios has received help -- but it's his touching observations, his inquisitiveness, and the good conversations we've had that really makes a somewhat unlikeable task worthwhile. His questions have ranged from "why won't people stop to listen to me?" to "why wouldn't they want these great prizes?" to "should they be going to a grocery store and spending money if they're telling me don't have money to buy tickets?" Each question carries with it the opportunity to impart a small lesson, a little value that hopefully will stick.

However, what's most rousing is his willingness to keep trying no matter how many "nos" he receives that truly makes the experience worthwhile. Although he's occasionally felt discouraged and had his head down, he will pop back up again and approach the next person, eventually getting a sale that allows him to ride on that success through all the "nos" until he gets another sale.

And that's where I find a learning experience in these raffle ticket sales - not because it's important to the school or because Helios will likely earn a prize that we could've purchased for him at significantly less than our time is worth. But because it has surprised me by providing an opportunity to help my son have a different perspective and watch him manage his own disappointments and insecurities. It's also been inspiring to me -- having a 6-yr-old be told "no" many times in an hour is so much harder for him than life's daily pitfalls are to me, and yet he keeps plugging away at it far better than I sometimes do.

That said, I still look forward to the next fundraiser -- a jog-a-thon!

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Postscript: Thanks to the generosity of Helios' friends and family, not to mention his hard work, he was ranked #3 in overall sales, bringing in almost $700. (The first and second place sellers each brought in more than $1100.)

Perspective

This morning, Hesperos and Mommy were talking about helicopters. Mommy shared with Hesperos the bombshell that he has, in fact, taken a flight in a helicopter. Hesperos' 4-year-old world was shaken - he had no idea he had participated in such an exciting experience. He asked when and why he was in a helicopter.

Even though Hesperos was born almost fully baked and nearly nine pounds, his lungs were a little under-developed with fluid in them that turned rapidly into pneumonia. Consequently, when Hesperos was only a day old, he was air-vac'd from his hospital of birth to another hospital in the city that had a dedicated neo-natal ICU division for care.

As any parent can imagine, it was extremely stressful - at that point, we'd never had an unhealthy newborn anywhere in our immediate or extended family and losing your newborn to an incubator for two weeks (when you already have a toddler at home) is a difficult experience, to say the least.

Hesperos, with all the joy and simplicity of a 4-year-old, laughed when he was told about his NICU experience. "Mommy," he said chuckling, "of course I had problems breathing when I was a baby. I had a very little nose!"

And with that, the memory of two weeks of parental anxiety was wiped away.

Run, Boys, Run!

There are few things that come more naturally to children than running (unless it's depositing a thread of toilet paper still attached to the roll directly into the toilet, flushing the toilet, and watching it pull the toilet paper in...but that's another post). Genius was the (wo)man who invented the school jog-a-thon fundraiser where a child's energy can be put to good use (on a school day, no less!) and every lap around the track equals a little bit of money out of a hapless relative's wallet.

Living in the land of Nike and Adidas, running is the trans-generational activity for the trendy. Having seen 3.5 of my (somewhat sedentary) relatives convert into running enthusiasts, I am fairly sure that a pair of sneakers has an evangelical power second only to one of Jesus' disciples. Is it any wonder that given such an influence, combined with their own natural competitive enthusiasm and zeal for activity, that both boys would be good little runners?

May was jog-a-thon month for us (yes, this post is tardy) with events sponsored by each child's school. Helios' school featured a (standard?) 1/4-mile marked grass-track where the children ran during a full lunch hour. Mommy even took a break to join Helios for a bit, shedding flip-flops where necessary to run along. (Although flip-flops are an appropriate handicap for an adult racing with a 5-yr-old.) Helios completed his race at 3.25 miles or 13 laps, a distance we feel is very respectable for a child his age. We also learned that when Helios races, he immediately puts himself into the "Speed. I am speed." mentality of Lightning McQueen, complete with imagining his fellow contestants are other race cars trying to force him into the pit.

In that respect, Hesperos is not that different in that he, too, experiences delusions of being a Disney-fied dolled-up race car with non-functioning headlights. However, his motivation was more to either catch-up with or show off to the little 4-yr-old girl with the bouncy curls just a little ahead of him. Hesperos raked up an extremely ambitious 25 laps on a 1/8-mile course at a park...which just goes to show his generous relatives that before making a "per lap" pledge, first confirm the size of the course and check that against the anticipated energy of the child. Intelligent was the supporter who made a flat pledge, and generous was the supporter who didn't begrudge the per lap payment.

Impressively, the Saturday after their jog-a-thons, both boys ran with Mommy and Daddy in the local 10k. By "ran" we mean that Helios had to be cajoled, encouraged, blackmailed, and slightly threatened to make the last two miles of the ~6.25 mile run -- and Hesperos was carried on Daddy's shoulders alternating half miles. The chips reveal that Mommy and Judah came in fifth/sixth to last. But, given we beat Daddy/Hesperos (who came in second to last/last, preceded immediately by the man pushing his pregnant wife in a wheelchair and the other man running on a prosthetic), we felt pretty good.

All told, the boys managed to raise about $700 combined for their two schools. And they felt a great sense of accomplishment. We're feeling brave enough to have them both run with us for the Thanksgiving 10k fundraiser for the local food bank, although we'll probably park a car halfway just in case.