The quirks are what make people interesting. And not necessarily the kind of "interesting" that my grandmother used to use as a polite definition for something less than palatable, but the kind of "interesting" that makes people, well, the characters that they are - who they are. I'm pretty sure we all have quirks, some more obvious than others, and if you think you don't, then you're a big ol' liar. (For the record, I have no quirks...)
Samantha sure does have her quirks, and I love
On Wednesday, Samantha said she wanted to bring the blue-fluffy-thing-on-a-stick-cat-toy to school for "show and tell." They don't actually have show and tell in Kindergarten, and if they did, I think her participation in the ritual would be a whole lot more show than tell. I stopped her at the door and told her the kitties needed to keep it at home so they could play with it (okay, so that was a little fib - they're too old and lethargic to drag their sorry butts down to the basement litter boxes, or to even clean themselves, let alone play with a toy, but that's beside the point). Thankfully, she was happy with that suggestion.
On Thursday she insisted on wearing one of her pink gardening gloves to school, saying she needed to do some gardening. Just one. While I came close to yanking it off of her before walking out the door, I had to remember that all children probably go through stuff like this, and I should just pick my battles. After all, what would it possibly hurt? I was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to hold a pencil, but maybe that would be enough of an impetus to get her to take it off eventually. Maybe her classmates would make fun of her. But given the strange things I've seen them all wearing and bringing to school, I found that highly unlikely.
Besides, it matched her outfit perfectly (yeah, yeah, I totally didn't even think about getting a picture and accept the self-wrist-slapping I've given myself).
Walking into the classroom, she took off her backpack and removed her jacket carefully, avoiding pulling the glove off. As she made her way to her seat, she saw one of her little boy-friends wearing a fake mustache (see? everything goes!). Seeing her interest, he removed it and handed it to her, so she could put it on herself. By the time I finished fumbling with my cell phone camera, it had fallen off of her and she was already moving on to give it to another child.
Quirky, yes. But any different from any other child's typical silliness and exploration at this age? Nope.
By the way, in case you were burning to know, yes, she can hold a pencil and write perfectly well while wearing a gardening glove...
On a completely different topic, I was pretty impressed on Saturday by her acknowledgement of somebody else's differences. We were walking into a playground and saw a man up ahead of us with a very pronounced limp and walking with the aide of a cane.
"Mommy, look at him - he needs some medicines."
Choking back the surprised/happy laughter I felt threatening to consume me, I carefully explained to her that he likely didn't need medicine, but just needed the help of a cane.
"So he can walk!"
In the past, I would have imagined I'd cringe and hush a child that said that out loud. Knowing what I know now of the disability community, I can honestly hope that the man heard her. I think most people, including myself, appreciate parents taking the time to explain things to their naturally curious children, rather than hushing them and treating disability as a taboo subject. How would they ever learn acceptance from that? I wanted the man to know that Samantha, at least, is one who will spread acceptance through education, if not solely by virtue of her own differences.