The escuela of parenting

The other night, Matthew and I were looking at his dictionary of Spanish words.  I was reading them as best I can; other than a very (very!) brief Spanish for Educators course six years ago, my knowledge of the language can best be described as nada.

My five-year-old son, on the other hand, went to a preschool where Spanish was taught by Teacher Maria, a native speaker.   What this means is that as we sat there on the couch and I read the book aloud, Matthew was correcting my pronunciation.  “Azoool,” I’d say.  “Azul,” he’d respond, with razor-sharp inflection and precision.

It was really really cool.  And it was a reminder that if I think I know it all, I sure don’t.  My kids have an infinite amount to teach me, in Spanish and in English.

May I always be open to learning.

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