I went to visit with HBA’s second-grade teacher recently for a regularly-scheduled conference. Her report was glowing on all accounts except one. He takes after his father — not exactly a natural predilection for sports. So, he tends to sit on the bench with his teacher and comment on the happenings of the playground, or a new idea which has sunk its roots into his mind. His teacher thought we might want to encourage him to become more involved with sports, or something of that sort. So, on our bike ride home, I told him about how I regretted the fact that, when I was in second grade, I spent many a recess sitting with another student at the tether-ball pole, writing in the dirt with a stick, teaching ourselves cursive rather than playing with the kids our age. He seemed sympathetic to my story, and I thought I had passively gotten my point across. The next day, H was very excited to tell me that he had decided to teach himself cursive on the playground as well. In fact, he had spent recess that day sitting on the bench explaining his plan to his teacher. Since then, he has taught himself cursive — a script far superior to mine, which is really just scribbled print with some superfluous curls thrown in for effect.
The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.