the honesty of children

The world would most likely be a much happier, peaceful place if we listened to children more often. I’m not the first one to recognize this: there are books and tshirts and entire movements dedicated to listening to children. Have you not received that email about what love is from four to eight year olds kids at least once? Exactly.

Yesterday I had the joy of picking up two former students and their siblings. I had E when he was a three year old in my Orange Owls classroom, and his sweet, thoughtful self made it hard to avoid having “favorites.” The next year, I had his older sister, N, who was a bright spot in my classroom: wants to be a teacher when she grows up, works hard, often left me notes in the classroom to tell me she loved me, cried when her friends got in trouble because she “wants better for them.” She’s nine years old.

So, I picked up the two of them, and their other brother and sister who are starting first and sixth grade respectively. Their parents, somewhere around the age of thirty, are hard-working, caring, involved, excellent role models for their children. Anyways, I digress; all you need to know is that I spent about five hours with them yesterday.

We went to lunch at Jason’s deli: their kids menu is healthy, under $3, and there’s free frozen yogurt for all who finish their lunch. While waiting for our food to arrive, I snapped some silly pictures of them on my camera phone. N took a picture of five year old E and I sitting together, and I laughed when I looked at the image she had captured.

I smiled and looked at E. “Oh my gosh, my hair looks crazy!” He giggled.
N looked at me, a shy smile on her face. “Ms. Rob, it doesn’t look like it did when we were at SHINE. (The name of our school.) It looks like, well… it looks like you just woke up.”

Apparently I have really let myself go in this season of unemployment.

“N, thanks for being honest! I appreciate that. I let it air dry last night instead of blow drying it like I always, always do.”

The first grade boy spoke up. “Ya, it does look kind of bad. Not really bad, but… kind of bad.” I laughed out loud. His sixth grade sister politely poked him under the table.
“No, L, it’s okay. Being honest, in a nice way, is great! I said my hair looked crazy and C was just being honest instead of pretending it doesn’t look bad. Thank you.”

We all laughed as I attempted to pull some of my hair back from my face. I thought to myself, I wonder what the world would look like if we never abandoned our honesty, as most of us do around age nine or ten.

I’m blessed with parents/roommates/friends who usually tell me when my hair looks out of control or “kind of bad.” I have people tell me when they think I’m making an unwise choice or when they think I’m crazy for having a crush on someone that is…well, crazy. (I’m not saying I ever have.)

My first grade friend’s honesty yesterday made his compliments all the more sincere. Later that day, when he whispered to me in the middle of a movie that he loves, loves, loves my dogs, I know he was not saying it to be nice. He really, actually loves our lab and golden retriever a LOT. And when he got out of the car, gave me a hug, and told me had so, so much fun with me, well, I knew he meant it. And I also knew that my hair did not look its best.

If these kiddos had not been so nice about breaking the news to me about my crazy curls, it could have been rude. But they love me, and they’ve been raised to be so well mannered and thoughtful. Honesty wrapped in love is so easy to little kids. Why is it so hard for adults? What have we forgotten? We are too concerned with being liked or being popular or stepping out of line that we’ve grown up and forgotten this: if your intentions are kind and cased in love, criticism is really not so bad. But, apparently my hair is when I allow it to dry by itself…