My daughter's name was going to be Leah Grace. I’ve had that name picked out for as long as I can remember, because I was so sure that if I ever had a baby, it would be a girl.
Leah would have thick, black hair - just as my mom did, just as I and my sisters did. Our tresses choked every hairbrush we ever owned, and picking up all our fallen hair from the floor became my cleaning Tasmanian Umma's full-time job. These days, my niece A. throws pinch-faced crying fits every time she has to have her hair brushed because she her own thick always gets tangled forty ways before Friday. I'm sure Leah would do the same.
My daughter would have extracted all the patience in my soul with all her crying and wailing. I’m sure of this because I’ve been told by my parents that I, as their first daughter, made their lives as new parents a living hell. One of my favorite pictures of me as a little girl is an old, grainy shot of two-month-old Jane wailing her little head off while my Appa seems to be reading to me from the Korean version of a King James Bible. When I later asked, Umma told me that that's what he thought was good reading material for infants. I laughed then, but secretly wondered if I should try it with my own colicky child.
She would be beautiful. All parents think babies are cute, but pardon me for thinking that I’ve had a few years on you because I’ve loved her nearly all my life. I loved her since middle school, when I first started dreaming up names. I even had a little secret notebook where I’d jot down names I loved and imagine what it’d be like to have a little version of me who bore those names. I loved her in college, when I was first preparing to be a teacher. I paid close attention to what I learned in my elementary education classes to better teach my little girl at home.
I've waited for Leah Grace for nearly three decades now.
I’ve loved her through all the good and the bad, in all the triumphant and even the fearful moments. I’ve loved Leah Grace all my life.
She would grow up and likely surprise and/or disappoint us all, because she would be nothing like me. According to what most parents tell me, that’s usually how things go.
But I always hoped she’d be the same as me in most of the important ways. For instance, she’d love to read. It would have been hard not to, since I spent most of my twenties spending money I didn’t have on a picture book collection I dreamed of someday gifting her. I wanted her to grow up with the same kind of stories that I fell in love with as a child. I grew up in dusty libraries and brought home as many as the librarian would allow (because sometimes she’d shake her head at me sadly, telling me I had to put one or two back until next time. I always thought there was a little glimmer of a proud smile as she said this. Readers recognize each other, even across ages).
But Leah Grace isn’t going to be.
At least, for now.
So instead I’ve been pouring into the children who are in my life - the funny, creative, dazzling minds that I'm fortunate enough to have in my life, either in the classroom or through my family.
My sister Hannah is an amazing mom. She and my brother-in-law pour into their son and daughter with all the patience, consistency, and (does it need to be said?) love they can muster from their human hearts. They could co-write a book on parenting…for which I’d pay large sums of money, even as someone who works with children for a living.
My niece and nephew aren’t perfect kids. Because having great (or even perfect) parents doesn’t mean their children will be. But boy do I love them. I adore most children. It's probably why my twelve-year-old mind was already so bent on having kids.
As an educator, I love setting up experiences and experiments that make them wonder at the world. I even love when they ask questions that stump me, because kids ask the best questions. I'm serious. Go and ask a toddler (one that can at least put their minds into expressed language), and ask them what they’re wondering. About anything. I'll be here when you get back.
Wasn't that the best conversation? As a teacher and as an aunt, I've found that if you give children space to be curious, they ask all the best questions.
Here are some of my favorites -
“How do we know that an animal doesn’t laugh? Maybe we just don’t know their language and they’ve been laughing at us all along.”
“If there are aliens out there, how would we even know? Like maybe they can do things we can’t, like go invisible. If that’s the case, maybe they’re already here! And we just don’t know it!” (I admit, this blew my mind a little. I know it’s technically a recycled Men In Black plot, and maybe he watched the movie the night before, but furrealsies. How do we know?)
“If a tomato is a fruit, then does that make ketchup a smoothie?” I might've mentioned this one on the blog before, but it’s a perennial All-Star question for me.
Children's curiosity is their superpower. As an elementary science teacher, I always felt that I got to see them use their powers at their peak. In fact, whenever my students grew up and visited me from middle school or high school, I'd feel secretly crushed at how staid and demure they'd become. No more questions about aliens and ketchup, more reserved comments about schedules and exams.
In fact, they almost sounded like...adults. Some of the most tucked in, non-question-asking beings on this Urf.
Instead, I love children because they don't have time to be respectable; they’re too unabashedly curious. I love them because they’re tender-hearted. I love them because they’re quick to make mistakes, but quick to do a Ross Gellar pivot (if you know, you know) and find a way to make things right. It's my life goal to be more like them in some ways.
In fact, this past year, when I would hide in my classroom because the school where I worked was so oppressive, I’d duck into the closet and answer emails from there.
But the second I heard my door open and a small voice inquired, “Mrs. Choi? Are you here?” I’d put away the computer, open the door, and pretend like I was in there just retrieving something. Because no matter what I might be doing, talking to them was always the best part of my day.
So even as my mommy dreams get tucked away for the time being, I've been having a blast rediscovering childhood. Over these past few weeks, I've been having such fun hanging out with bona fide children - of all ages - and it's been steadily unlocking my own inner child. In fact, here's a picture of Mr. Page and Spoon and I, on one of our childish date nights.
I've also been having the greatest time letting myself ask questions like a child - openly, unashamedly, and without a lick of expectation for satisfying answers.
Here are some of mine -
Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart? (If you recognize this question as song lyrics, then you know this particular song is filled with fantastic questions)
What was happening in the mind of the Titanic captain as the ship sank?
What’s it like to work as a trapeze artist? Do they ever get dizzy from all that twirling through the air?
Should there be two separate groups instead? Christians and Christ-followers?
How do others people experience God? What happened in their lives so that they see God that way?
If you’ve gotten this far and you have the time to participate in some childishly serious fun, open your mind and be curious. What are your questions? Go ahead. Ask anything. You don’t have to, but if you want to share them, there's a comment box down below. Have at it and have fun!
And, as always, thanks for reading, friends.