My eight-year-old daughter comes dancing out of her bedroom, all dressed up to go to a birthday party.
“Don’t I look radius?” Sara asks.
“Absolutely radius,” I agree.
I know she means “radiant” but this is not the moment to make that correction. And, besides, I know she will make the correction herself, eventually.
When she was about four, she pointed to the impression her boot made in the snow. “It’s my frint-put,” she said.
“Yes, it is,” I said and promised myself I’d never forget that made-up word, knowing it would soon vanish.
As parents, we want to hang onto such charming mistakes but for a child they are just another step—another foot-print—on the way to growing up. And, I guess I’d rather not have the adult Sara going to job interviews saying “radius” and “frint-put.”
For me, one of the most astonishing things about raising a child was watching how the mind is endlessly self-correcting—learning and refining what it learns—often without our awareness.
My daughter once signed a note with “Love you trons.” She meant to write “love you tons,” of course, but we always used “trons” instead.
We always looked “radius,” too.
