One of my young kindergartners is a live wire. He skitters like a droplet of water on a hot skillet. The energy just emanates and sizzles. He always has a smile. Every morning I see his grandpa pull-up. I watch as the boy runs to the school door. He’s always in hyper drive. Slow is not in his vocabulary. Neither is quiet.
In the afternoon his grandpa is waiting as he runs through the doors. Smiling up into his grandpa’s face I see him rapidly spilling out the day’s happenings. I imagine his words running over themselves as they hurry to escape. He wants to share everything with his grandpa as quickly as he can. His grandpa is raising him.
He shares snippets of his life as he flashes past me. “My grandpa quit smoking, so he can live longer for me.
I have never heard about a grandma. Pieces of the story zing past, his father lives elsewhere. Now he lives with grandpa.
He loves to hear stories. His exuberance is contagious. I read the “Three Bears” last month. I asked who had previously heard the story, only a few hands went up. The boy with eyes the size of saucers, claps and at full volume, “You have to listen, the story is AWESOME!”
When I read a story he is familiar with he retells in a staccato rhythm as I read it to the class. He just can’t help himself. I now choose books that he can echo as I read.
Friday he excitedly shared that he and his grandpa were going fishing. Then with candor, “My grandpa’s fishing pole can catch a whale. A really big one.”
For landlocked Montana that is a "good day's fishing". I know that in the boy’s eyes his grandpa is bigger than life.
As he runs through the door, the air whooshes out leaving a vacuum of silence in his wake.
