Some days I want her to learn so much. I want to pour into her my dreams and passions. But my job isn’t to fill a bowl but to plant a seed. It’s harder this way. I have to listen her. Figure out how what she needs to know fits with what she wants to hear.
In all of this, I am learning too, perhaps more than she. That I can be a teacher best when I’m just doing life. That I need to let her see the kind of woman I want to be, even when I fail. I don’t have to know it all, just prove that I’m still searching. That the journey never ends. School is never out and that’s a good thing.
So we read aloud, practice consonants and vowels, and count. Books, steps, and days. We sing, cry, fight and explore. I am guide and teacher, but it is her quest. I can’t walk it for her, or force her down the paths I would choose. But I can walk beside her and hold her hand, when she lets me.
She will learn. It is inevitable, it is like breathing. But will I learn to let her fly?