On the odd weekday when her Mom sets up an afternoon appointment, I get drafted to pick up Magsy from preschool.
The routine usually includes wandering in and getting glared at suspiciously by the lady at the front desk even though I’ve picked up Mags 100 times (I learned a long time ago to ignore ladies at front desks and just walk by like you work there and know exactly where you’re going), making a b-line to Magsy’s room, saying “Hi” to the other kids, who always notice me first and collectively announce, “Hey, Marguerite! Your Grandpa (or “Dad”) is here!” then I usually hang out and do whatever they’re doing (sit in the reading circle or sing or dance or listen to music) for a bit until Mags notices me and smiles. then we gather whatever take-home stuff (school notes, art/craft work, soiled clothes, etc.), change from slippers to street shoes, get goodbye hugs, then sign out and yell “goodbye!” to everyone on the way to the car. The same lady I ignore on the way in usually smiles says a cheery “goodnight, Marguerite” on the way out.
A few weeks ago, Mags’ take home stuff included this colored page . . .
"That spells 'turkey.'"
She held it up for me to see and said, “I made this for you.” Then, pointing at the letters at the top, explained, ” That says, ‘Turkey.’”
After a little pause, I said, “Wow! Thank you, Magsy. It looks great–I really like the colors you used!”
Then, later, after we drove home, I posted the picture on my fridge along with all the other bits of Magsy-art.
I realized just today, that that little incident probably defines the notion of “unconditional love” better than anything else I’ve experienced.
Thanks, Magsy!
John
