Three and a half
These days it’s good to be three and a half.
And if you can’t be three and a half, it’s a good time to hang out with someone who is three and a half. They remind us of some important things.
More and more I’m coming to be convinced we old farts would be a lot better off if we weren’t quite so intent on acting our age. The truth is, over the years, and for some of us it hasn’t taken many, to pick up bad habits we’d all do well to unlearn and there’s nothing like a few hours with an exuberant toddler to point the way to where we’re going wrong.
When it really comes down to it, once we hit three and a half, as people, we’re pretty much a finished product. We’re upright and feeding ourselves; mobile, vocal and social, the rest of life is just figuring stuff out.
But three and a half is a great age. By three and a half you’ve got a full set of teeth, so at dinner time the world is your oyster – even though you’re not likely to take a bite of that nasty, slimy thing. After months and months of being tied into a highchair while strained peas and brown-sugarless oatmeal where shoveled in with no regard for your squirming protestations, you’ve become master of your own mouth. You’ll eat what you like and spurn what’s merely good for you. That might be the first real set of decisions we make for ourselves and we stick to them fiercely – even if it means eating nothing but Spaghetti-O’s and canned pears for the next six weeks. In a flash we learned the power of “No!”; that we had power to make our lives better or less good.
And at three and a half we set out with a vengeance to make our little lives better. We knew full was better than hungry. Warm was better than cold. Anger made our stomachs hurt, while fun and laughter made every day better
And we knew we weren’t alone in the world. While we could feed ourselves, the food came from somewhere, someone else. We shared the house we lived in and had to get along with the people who lived there with us. We learned to use the toilet; not to pull the dog’s tail; to say “please” and “thank you” and “may I?” We learned to share – because when everyone was happy, everyone was happy.
Somehow, it seems, as we get older we get forgetful. We get to be 10, 12, 20, and more and start getting the idea that we’re doing stuff all on our own. That because we can hit a ball farther, run a race faster, or live in a house that’s bigger we count for more and other folks for less. That if we’re full, warm, and healthy that’s all that counts. We forget that we’re not alone in the world. And that scares us. As it should.
But at three and a half we’d run and jump; hop, skip and scamper. Zoom down the highest slide; dangle downside up; chase frogs; examine spiders; eat ice cream and sing. So long as there was someone who cared, we dared. We knew we weren’t alone, on our own and, because of that, believed the world cared for us, that we could be safe, could be secure, could be happy. And if we could be happy, everyone could be happy.
As long as we said “please,” said “thank you,” said “may I?”
As long as we look out for each other.
As long as we share.