Total Absorption in the Process

My seven-year-old grandson Nathan is writing books and illustrating them himself.  His first two are about Star Wars, and the one he's doing now is The Diary of Nathan.

When he woke up yesterday morning, he asked Will if he could "see Yenna"  if he got a "green day." (A green day means he's not done one thing bad at school all day.)

I'm so unaccustomed to (and flattered by)  being someone's Reward that I couldn't resist going out to Helotes to see him after he got home from school, whatever the color of his day.  He fascinates me--this little boy!

After school, Nathan dribbles a ball for a while, then feeds the seven chickens, then takes a handful of straw to the horse, then tosses about fifty rocks into a bucket of water, then works on his book, then we play a game with his Lego helicopter traveling from Russia to France to Texas on some secret Lego mission.  At bedtime, his mother at a concert at her school, we four (Will, Elena, Nathan and I)  get into his bed where he reads us his own books as a bedtime story.

When Nathan writes and draws his day in his diary, he totally gets into the project.  If he makes a mistake, no big deal; he marks right through it with magic marker and proceeds.  Except for proper names, he doesn't ask how to spell words.  If other people are talking, he tunes us out.   I asked if I could take pictures of some of the pages, and he said, "Not yet, wait until it's all finished."

This little guy knows a lot about the creative process: don't share until you're ready; don't worry about what's not important; value your work and read it aloud with pride.

He and his sister, Elena, are the children I'm with most often.  I'd taken Elena to the park to ride the train and we'd gotten off at Kiddie Park to ride the carousel while Nathan was in school.

These two are teaching me a lot about how to be: enjoy the moment one hundred per cent or change what you're doing: don't plan too far ahead;  don't say "yes" if you want to say "no;" and fall asleep whenever you feel like it.

Years ago a famous football player (Rosie Grier) videotaped children in action and tried to imitate their actions for an hour.  Big strong macho football player admitted that he was quickly exhausted from the effort--as I would be in five minutes. Children are up, down, rolling on the floor, laughing at the dogs, and turning into pilots and monsters so fast that, if you're a member of the cast in one of their plays, it's hard to separate the plots and do your part right.

After twelve hours of playing with children, I'm inspired and invigorated, emotionally--but my physical energy barely registers on the energy-measuring-machine as I drive home at nine.

Children don't have to think about taking care of the car, house, yard, or body.  They don't have to buy groceries, watch the clock, or follow through with promises made to be anywhere at a certain time.  They aren't rushing around marking things off a giant to-do list the way their parents and grandparents are.  Whatever they are doing they are completely absorbed in.

When it's time to go to sleep, they are never ready to let go of the day.  "Five more minutes" or "Okay, you can skip your bath tonight"--wow, these are the much-prized rewards that remind big people how full a day can be with just the tiniest stretchers on the end!