From a Child's Perspective

            Years ago, when I was teaching children between the ages of eight and sixteen in a one-room schoolhouse, I realized that the eight-year-old stage of childhood was just about my favorite. Still far from adolescence, eight-year-olds have the openness and innocence of childhood along with intellects developed enough to articulate their perceptions about the world. And among that age group, eight-year-old girls are just about my favorite creatures in the world.

            I spent the Thanksgiving holiday with my son and daughter-in-law and their daughter, my granddaughter, who is eight years old. One leisurely day, as we were conversing from our respective positions, she swinging languidly on the trapeze in her house and I knitting on the couch, she said, "My nose got clogged up with air."

            What a funny thing to say. Air goes right through the nose. That's how we breathe. How could her nose get clogged up with air? When I asked, she gave a tiny exasperated sigh, smiled patiently, and said, "How can I explain this to an old person?"

            How many times have the adults around her smiled indulgently and said, as politely and not quite condescendingly as she did to me: "How can I explain this to this child?" It's no wonder the shoe is on the other foot, though we usually don't see it. Children have their own points of view, and explaining those perceptions to adults must seem difficult indeed. Teen-agers don't try. Eight-year-olds do.

            After the first iteration of this question, I took note of my granddaughter's attempts, during the week, to explain things to me: how to play Pokémon Go, how Pokémon trading cards work, why it's better to draw a card before playing a card in the 1000 Bornes board game. With these explanations she was on her territory. I was the outsider, needing help.

        Later in the week I rode in a car to Seattle with a friend, her two children, and my granddaughter. The three children in the back seat chattered away in their own world. Laura told me how much she enjoyed listening in on that world. She said sometimes she tries to enter it, relating to something the children are talking about. They tolerate her intrusion with patience, but they know she doesn't understand, that she doesn't speak their language. How could they explain what they were talking about to her?

            One of the most magical things about being around children is to be given a glimpse of their world. Eight-year-olds, maybe nine- and ten-year-olds, too, are willing to show it to us, even though it's difficult to explain. I never did find out how a nose could get clogged up with air. I was much more enlightened by the glimpse into a child's world that my granddaughter gave me when she said, "How can I explain this to an old person."