If I Should Have a Son

If I should have a son, by the time he's one year old, he would know that Dada could be just as comforting as Mama. By the time he's three, he would know that "please" and "thank you" are the magic beans that grow success and that if he ever falls from that bean stalk, it is okay to cry because nothing can grow without a little bit of watering. Before he enters Kindergarten, he will know that girls play differently than boys, and that they need to be protected just like Daddy does for Mommy. He might make a mistake every once in a while, but when he does, he will have the tell-tale face of guilt because his Mommy taught him right from wrong. And he will learn that an "I'm sorry" will shake that guilt away like an Etch-a-Sketch.

If I should have a son, by the time he starts high school, he will have learned that you can't go anywhere without a door opened for you, which you should always remember to be grateful for. He will also learn that sometimes you have to be the one to make the first push, but in either case, he will know that the right thing to do is to hold the door open for whomever may follow him.

If I should have a son, and if he should fall in love, I would tell him that girls are like buried treasure. Pirates will try to steal their worth, but he will know that the pirate life is not for me. Those doubloons will stay buried until she maps out the key to her heart for the man she will marry. He will know that that man won't always be him. But I'll tell him, when it's time, he will know from the protective nature to guard that "X marks the spot" with his life. He will know that to love is to sacrifice, and that if it was easy, everyone would have it.

If I should have a son, God help me, because growing up in a house of girls doesn't exactly lend me the qualifications to discover the mystery of the Y-chromosome, and my name isn't Nancy Drew.

But even if I should have a son, I would make sure that he would know that cussing is the crutch of the conversationally crippled, and that in this family, it's never been able to roll of the tongue gracefully anyway. He would know that if he needs to get in a fight to impress his friends, they aren't really his friends; they are just looking for you to get hurt. And he would NEVER spend his entire ceramic's class talking with his friend about boobs. Especially when you have to talk around the girl sitting between you in class.

Because if that girl was your mother, I can tell you right now, she didn't appreciate it.

If I should have a son, he would at the very least, know that.

~Kat

"Miss Kat! Tell me a story!"

I hear this often from the four year old boy and two year old girl whom I babysit for. It was pretty scary the first time they asked me. Talk about being put on the spot. And they read Dr. Seuss, talk about high expectations. Try to think for a few minutes? Nope, ain't no four year old got time for that. You have thirty seconds. Go.

By now I've gotten to the point where I can roll with the punches, especially once I figured out that if there are dinosaurs or sharks in the story it's immediately a hit.

Everyone loves a story. Stories have been around for as long as there were people to dictate them. Stories will be around for as long as there are people to listen. There will always be a demand for writers. Yet, I'm still hesitant to declare myself an English major. I'm still leading myself down the road of being in school for a million years after high school graduation majoring in Health Science.

I've always had an interest in medicine, inspired by my mom, a nurse. I've always been pretty good at math and science in school, even enjoyed it most of the time.

But something that I enjoy all the time: English class. It has always been my favorite, every year since Kindergarten. I look forward to that class like a child would look forward to their birthday. I dabble into writing exercises and new techniques like college students might dabble into promiscuity. I re-read my old work like someone might dream of the "glory days" and gaze nostalgically upon their pee-wee soccer trophies.

You could say I love it.

I just finished the first week of my Senior year, and yes it has met my high expectations. It's challenging, but it's easy enough to digest so that I don't have to wait a half hour before I go swimming and have fun. I have some very interesting classes, with great attention-getting teachers.

The top two things I learned this week:

One, stories have a lot more to them than what meets the eye and they have a lot more to say than what seeps between your ears. They are important, important enough to require all citizens of the United States to study them for their first twelve years of schooling, if not more.

Two, if what you love is not "worth your time," then what is? "The only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do... Don't settle."-Steve Jobs

And both of these things came from my English class.

I would hope after 12 years of English class I would know how to read a sign, if only I was courageous enough to follow it.
~Kat