Will Our Preschoolers Remember Sheltering in Place?

Hey Kid,

I’m taking some time to write you a note because by the time you’re big (yes, I know you’re big, you tell me every day), you’re probably not going to remember any of this—at least I hope you don’t. I hope you read about it in your world history class. And that the memories you’re making now, as a 3-year-old, are only fleeting.

Today, was hard.

You had a fit as we scootered past the park because you wanted to play, and I had to physically yank you away. You devolved into a puddle of tears on the sidewalk howling so hard I thought the neighbors were going to call CPS.

“The park, I want my park.”

“Remember, honey, we talked about germs and how we have to play inside and away from other people for a little while; we really can’t go into the park; get on your scooter and race to the house now.”

Showing your whiplash resilience and the coordination of an Olympic athlete, you jumped on the scooter and raced down the block home, beating Baba and me by several minutes. You are remarkable. Today, you fought a dragon. You donned your John Snow cosplay costume and challenged Baba the Dragon to a death match in the backyard, breaking the dragon’s wand deftly with your mighty blows. You laughed.

You ran fast fast fast; falling, stumbling—picking yourself up. Stopping to “work” in the dirt; digging into a flowerpot; moving soil from one barrel to the next. “I’m working,” you said. “Yes you are,” I said as I watched with wonder.

Today, was hard.

You wanted desperately to play with your friend next door. And as her mother and your fathers struggled to set up a playdate across the fence, you adapted as we had a picnic lunch separated by 15 feet and two wooden fences. There was a lot of screaming and a lot of fun!

Today, you worked on your three-point-grip, the letter “V,” and painted a sky. You do not sit still. Your teachers are miracle workers. As I sit in the living room and hear you take a bath upstairs, I can do nothing but smile.

Today has been a hard, good day.

“Are you kidding me?” You ask Baba. Why? I have no idea. But that fact that a 3-year-old has the chutzpah to utter such a sentence gives me hope for our world. Step by step we go on.

You fought a dragon, you had a playdate, you learned limits, you grew—a virus notwithstanding.

Love ya lots,

Papi