All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten Read Free Page A

left an obstacle course of puddles.
    A small child, kitted out in full raingear, runs splashing through a puddle, “YAAAAAAAAHHH.” His mother, likewise rain-proofed, runs after him, shouting, “NO. NO. NO.” Catching his hand, she pulls him back onto dry land and barks sternly: “NO PUDDLES, Jacob. I told you: NO PUDDLES.”
    The child strains outward and away from her like a guy wire from a tent in a windstorm. He whines. The mother pulls him further away down the path. The child upshifts into a wail. The mother tries to pick him up. The child goes limp and screams. It’s a stand-off. A child-in-the-checkout-line-at-the-supermarket deal. And this kid is a black-belt screamer: “WHOOOAAAOOOYAAAA.” The mother is embarrassed. People are staring.
(“What did she do to him?”)
    A well-dressed middle-aged man observes from a nearby bench. He’s wearing polished black leather wing-tipped shoes. Between him and the mother-and-child hoo-ha is a large puddle. The man stands. Walks deliberately into the puddle, wing-tips and all. Grins. Shouts, “HEY-HEY-HEY.” Mother and child look up. The kid goes silent, stands still.
    This scene is too good to be true. How can I stay out of this? I get up off my bench and walk into the puddle to stand beside the grinning man. I’m wearing serious leather sandals and socks. I grin at the man and the mom and the kid. A fashionably dressed young woman takes off her shoes and joins us, as does her dog.
    The kid laughs, lets go of his mom’s hand, and marches into the puddle.
    All eyes are on the mom.
    Now at center stage, the mom wears an expression of pained pleasure. She’s caught again in a parenthood paradox. On the one hand, the child must learn to mind. But, then, what harm can a puddle do if the kid is wearing rain boots? She doesn’t want him to get sick. But of course everybody knows you catch colds from germs on other peoples’ hands, not from puddles. It’s hard to back down when you’ve said “NO!” But it’s not wrong to change your mind. She doesn’t want her child to follow the example of strangers. But all these three people have done is to stand in the puddle and grin at her. How can so much be at stake over such a small event? What’s a good mother to do?
    Being a parent always involves some hypocrisy. If she were a kid, she’d be in the puddle now. She walked in puddles when she was a child and came to no harm. Her mom probably shouted “NO PUDDLES” at her, too. Does parenthood always mean being driven by the autopilot of the past?
    All this races through the mom’s mind in nanoseconds.
    The waders and watchers are waiting. She can’t stand there forever.
    The mom smiles. Laughs. Walks into the puddle. Her audience applauds.
    The waders shake her hand, shake each other’s hands and go their ways.
    The child has a pleased-but-stupefied look on his face.
    Adults are weird. He will not understand how weird until he is one.
     
    So, you may ask, did this really happen?
    Well, yes and no. The day and the park and the puddle were real. The small cast assembled in this little arena was there. And the inclinations we all had were right and true. But, in fact, the mother pulled the kid off down the path, still barking “NO PUDDLES” at him, and leaving the rest of us grumpily minding our own business. Still, it
might
have happened. It
should
have happened. Puddles are there as a test about staying young as long as you can. All the adults there that day failed the test.
    How I hated walking away thinking, as I have so many times in my life, that next time or when I have time or when circumstances are just right I will do what my heart says to do. Sometimes acting foolish and being wise are the same.
    Later that afternoon I went back to do what I knew I should have done.
    Too late. Too late.
    Mother and child and nice people and puddle and opportunity had gone.

 
     
     

    H AIHO L AMA
    E LIAS S CHWARTZ REPAIRS SHOES. He is short and round and bald and