When you learn something, it's yours. It belongs to you, like your skin, like your brain, your heart.
This I thought today as I pictured Johnny at the piano. Lola gave him three piano lessons while she was visiting last week, and he learned to play a piece. Now it's his. I can see him going to the piano, playing this one piece he knows, feeling the power of that knowledge, wanting to know more.
This is what I want all my grandchildren to understand. So I repeat: When you learn something, it's yours.
It is what I wanted my children to understand. It's why I taught them all to read at home, before they went to school. Reading was something they could have. And keep.
It's what I want the young child Carol to know. Perhaps she did. She grew up loving to learn--not always loving to do what is required to know something, and isn't that a key! But loving to learn. She still loves to learn.
(Okay, so I know it's weird to speak of myself in third person. Sorry. It seemed the right thing to do here.)
It is what I wanted my children to understand. It's why I taught them all to read at home, before they went to school. Reading was something they could have. And keep.
It's what I want the young child Carol to know. Perhaps she did. She grew up loving to learn--not always loving to do what is required to know something, and isn't that a key! But loving to learn. She still loves to learn.
(Okay, so I know it's weird to speak of myself in third person. Sorry. It seemed the right thing to do here.)
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