Going native

Today we enjoyed the first performance of Will’s pre-school career. He and about two dozen other 3-year-olds – each of them dressed in sponge-painted beaded white oversized t-shirt garb and feather headbands – sang a rousing rendition of one little two little three little Indians. Will was one of the very last to mount the stage. As I watched for him I began to get a wee bit nervous that stubborn one had refused to join the program. But at last, one kid from the end, there came little Will.

Only, where were his pants? All the other kids had trousers beneath their oversized Indian garb but Will appeared to truly be going native. He had some shoes sure, but no socks, no pants just the upper costume. I started praying silently that there were shorts beneath that T-shirt – and there were. Earlier that morning, in the excitement of playing in another teacher’s classroom, Will had lost sight of his most basic needs and had suffered the second urinary mishap of his school career. So some kind teacher bagged up his entire outfit (shirt, underwear, pants, and socks all managed to get wet) and suited him up in the first pair of shorts they found.

By the time we met him for the Thanksgiving program and subsequent feast, he seemed unfazed by his slip-up. He remembered to sing at least the first two verses of his long-practiced Indian song, just looked around at the crowd for the final verse and then downed some chicken nuggets, mac ‘n’ cheese and an entire frosting-covered turkey cookie that gave him a good enough sugar high that I had to drag him giggling and breathless to the car.

Will and Owen after the show: