Last week we were at a friends house, and the children were threading beads on plastic string. Susannah decided that she would make a bead necklace as her birthday present for Noah. She did, and put it in my coat pocket to bring it home; where she made a card; found a gold-paper gift bag to put them in; and hid the bag in the back of her underwear drawer so Noah wouldn't find it. All of this was entirely her own initiative; and I was both impressed by her thought-process, and touched by her thoughtfulness.
A few days ago Susannah was playing here with a friend. They were playing with beads, and Susannah wanted more...unbeknown to me, she raided the gift bag...
This morning Susannah gave Noah his present. He looked in the gift bag; took out the card; and there, on the bottom of the bag, lay one turquoise-coloured plastic bead. One bead.
My adult conditioned response was, "Where's the necklace?" Noah's response was, "A bead?! For my birthday?! Awww, fanks!" I don't want to sound ungrateful for the other presents he received, but he was so grateful to be given a bead [that, technically, already belonged to him already...] that my adult perspective was confronted by something greater.
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