memory

Martin came home with a huge hand-made book. Each page had a map in which he colored one country from either North America, Central America, or the Caribbean. On each page, he printed out the name of the country he colored. The kid wrote "Guatemala" and "El Salvador."The book's construction paper cover read, "My North America Book - by Martin."

The booklet was one marker of Martin's school successes over the past two days. He has occupied himself with activities during worktime. He actually ate his lunch. He even stayed outside for almost all of recess. He had a few rough moments in circle times, but he's not alone in that problem. His tutor reported that Tuesday and Wednesday have been his best school days yet.

I would never know about this difference from Martin. He reports that every day at school is a good one. He always confirms that he played with kids, ate his lunch, and played outside. No matter what the day before was like, Martin is eager to go back to school the next day. I need to learn from his example.

There is one thing that keeps me from doing this, though. I have a great attachment to memory. I love to remember things, to go over them in my head. I often wonder what Martin's memories are like. I know that he recalls things. The other day, for instance, he remembered that there is a dog at the vacuum cleaner repair shop. Or he'll insist on using a nickname for someone that he invented when he was one. But I wonder how those things enter and replay in his mind. Will he remember sitting in his class and making a North America book? Will he remember it as a good day? Or will he remember every day - even the bad ones - as part of a wonderful whole?