Make with the Nice

Wednesday night is catechism for Ian. It’s a class for three- and four-year-olds, which means a lot of paper, glue, permanent markers, and songs with hand gestures.

Last week there was a girl I hadn’t seen before, who was crying and didn’t want to be left. Her mother moved aside to let Ian and me pass as she tried to console her daughter.

Ian’s really good at making nice with other kids, so I stopped. ‘Excuse me,’ I said to the girl. ‘Could you do me a favor?’ She stopped crying, sniffled, and looked at her shoes. ‘This is my son, Ian. He likes to talk. A lot.’ I patted his head. She looked at Ian’s shoes.

‘Could you please let me know if he talks your ear off?’ She frowned. ‘You have to be careful, ’cause he’ll just keep talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and never stop.’ I rolled my eyes and made talking motions with my hand.

Ian grinned, and took it from there. ‘Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah!’ He made talking motions with both hands, shook his head, and waggled his tongue back and forth. She smiled.

I. Love. This. Kid.