Continuing with the theme of math concepts, kindergarten style. We had a hilarious conversation this evening. As you’ll see, I really walked into this one:

Dad: Remember when we were at the garden store and we were picking up those big bags of dirt? How many bags of dirt do you think you weigh?
Lad: I don’t know.
Dad: You weigh a little more than one bag of dirt.
Lad: Like one and a half?
Dad: Not quite, but close. So if you weigh a little more than one bag of dirt, how many bags of dirt does daddy weigh?
Lad: Two and a half bags.
Dad: That’s nice, but it’s more than that.
Lad: Four and a half bags?
Dad: That’s closer. It’s actually over six bags.
Lad: Yeah, painfully close to seven.

I have to assume that the good teachers at kindergarten played some role in this little pre-algebra lecture from the lad:

This is very strong. It is twice as strong as you are. I’m using you as a kind of symbol for how strong something can be, and then I’m saying that this is twice as strong as that.

I’m really good at estimating. Did I ever tell you that?

I just got back from a few days of business travel. Lisa reports that this conversation with our boy took place this morning:

Mom:  I know you missed daddy while he was away. I missed him too.
Lad: Yeah, well, I missed him more than you. I cried you know, and that means something.

The lad has been having trouble with anxieties around bedtime. While we’re working harder at winding down the day with relaxing activities, he’s coming up with some of his own ideas about soothing his jumpy nerves:

Wouldn’t it be great if we had a robotic version of you? Then you could just come in here at bedtime, and flip the switch on robot dad, and he could sing to me, and stay with me all night to watch over me, and you could leave. That would be so cool.

But who gets the goodnight kisses?

I wouldn’t have to hug or kiss a robot!

I take it that’s a feature, not a bug.

No this isn’t a post about eliminating student loans at wealthy colleges and universities. (I have some thoughts about that, but maybe another day.) Nor is this a post about 529’s and other investment vehicles.

This is a post about our son, who at six, is already thinking about college. While some social-climbing parents might like having a child who thinks about college while he’s in kindergarten, I feel awkward about it. I try to tell myself that it’s a natural byproduct of having a daddy who works in higher education. Rationalization, perhaps?

On his birthday, his great-grandmother presented him with a U.S. savings bond. He came running into the kitchen, “Mommy, look what Grandnana gave me! Now I can go to college!”

Today, the topic came up again.

Dad: You know who owes you that money? The United States government! [Big smile…likes that thought.] Your grandnana loaned some money to the United States, and she told them to give the money to you when it’s time to pay it back. Cool, huh?
Lad: How much is it worth?
Mom: Fifty dollars.
Lad: Is that enough to go to college?
Dad: Nope, it costs more than that.
Lad: How do I get a–you kn0w–appointment in college? Like to let me in.
Dad: You mean accepted? You apply to the college you want to go to.
Lad: What if they don’t accept my application?

That he could even form the question–a little heartbreaking, isn’t it? How does a kid this age even know about selectivity?

Dad: Then you apply to another school that you like.
Lad: And what if they don’t accept my application?
Dad: You just keep on applying. Trust me, lovey, some college is going to REALLY want you to come to their school. You’ll find the right one when the time comes.

In a similar vein of parental worry about pressure on kids, I share a horrifying picture with you. This was taken at the local elementary school’s Scholastic book fair a couple months ago:

It has been a weekend of birthday festivities. Thanks to all who helped us celebrate. As is our tradition, we use the occasion to review what occupies our boy’s thoughts.

Favorites
Bedtime story: “Paul Revere’s Ride” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Song: “Van Lingle Mungo” by David Frishberg
TV Show: “American Gladiators,” replacing “Survivorman.”
Food: sushi
Board game: checkers

On the way to catch a basketball game together–see, I expose him to normal things–the lad explained to me how he sizes up the current election field and his own future in politics:

I don’t know who to vote for. You just need to vote for whoever will STOP THE WAR. I want to know who will bring all of those soldiers home. Maybe someday I’ll be president, and I will stop the war…some war that is going on. That’s what a president should do.

An hour later, at halftime, he added:

I also want to be a basketball referee, and maybe an editor. Plus being president.

I wouldn’t put it past him.