Nursery School Thoughts By Kris Berger This past weekend, I put all of my son Leo’s school dates into my calendar – Red Room Parent’s night, the first day of school, the all-school Shabbat dinner, and many more – and I thought to myself, “I can’t believe that an entire year has passed since his first day at Brotherhood Synagogue Nursery School.” It feels like just yesterday that I filled his Yellow Room cubby with extra socks and a change of clothing and emergency diapers…spent mornings drinking coffee and chatting with other Yellow Room moms during the phase-in period, getting to know them and their children…and watched Leo transition beautifully into independence, with his own experiences, friends, ideas, and memories. Where did the time go? What has changed – and what have each of us gained – over the past twelve months? And the questions that are at the top of my mind these days: How does Leo experience the passing of time? What will be different about how he and his classmates see and experience the world this year, and how will this impact their learning and interactions both in and outside of school? I have been mulling over these questions ever since a conversation Leo and I had about a week ago, following an unusually challenging bath time routine that took about a half-hour longer – and involved considerably more frustration – than it typically does. Once the bath was finally done, and our routine was back on track and headed toward a calm bedtime, Leo asked if we could read the usual two books before lights out. I answered, “We can only read one book tonight, honey, because we wasted a half-hour and its way past your bedtime.” I could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking hard about what I said, and what to say in response. I thought he was going to try to negotiate a second book back into the evening’s plan. Instead, he looked up and asked, “Mama, where did the wasted time go? Can we get it back?” His question was both straightforward and profound, and it struck me deeply. I answered, “No, we can’t get the time back. It’s gone.” Leo’s response: “Can we get more time?” With that, we snuggled for a while, having as deep a conversation as one can have with a three-year-old about the nature of time – why wasted time can’t be recovered, that you can only move forward through time, and that yes, there is always more time. (And that no, I didn’t put the wasted time in my pocket.) Leo was wrestling – perhaps for the very first time – with a completely conceptual idea, trying to make sense of something he could neither feel, nor smell, nor touch, learning to translate theory into practice, and idea into action. And it was absolutely wonderful to be there with him, in the moment. I was literally watching him learn and grow – like a time-lapse photo of a plant growing from seed to flower – in front of my eyes. And I was learning something too: That my son had moved into a new stage of his life, where he was becoming aware of time – and of time’s mystery, power, and magic. We talked about time until we turned out the light, skipping the book part of our nightly ritual (which would have been terribly boring in comparison); once the lights were off, we chatted about our day and about our family and friends until it was time to hug and say goodnight. A year ago, I don’t think I could have even imagined having this conversation with Leo. Intellectually, I suppose that I knew it would happen – we all learn about intangible concepts eventually – but I had no idea when. And so, when I think about what has changed over the past year – all the things that are different in our lives, all the new experiences we have had, the challenges and setbacks we’ve encountered, the beauty and joy we’ve experienced – I guess what has changed most of all is that my little boy has become aware of the world around him. He has begun to ask about the laws of physics and nature that shape his world and his experience, and is learning how to ask questions that lead to answers…and to more questions . . . and to more answers…and to more questions. He is learning how to seek knowledge, make meaning, and strive for understanding. I can’t wait for Leo to enter the Red Room in just a few short weeks, and to see what time will bring with each of his classmates. Each child will bring a completely new set of perspectives to the classroom; the things they have experienced individually over the summer will enrich the group and influence learning in ways that were impossible a year ago. Our children’s language has grown richer, their memories sounder, their ability to think and question and empathize more mature and complex. The passing of time has given us children who are older, wiser, more able to learn from the world around them . . . and more able to teach us, and each other, about the wonder all around.