Klara went to a birthday party today, and yet again I was stunned at how great American kids are. One 7-year-old boy played kitchen with Klara, and he was so kind and gentle and understanding with her that it was amazing. He never pushed her or tried to take toys away from her or tried hurting her in any way. I know this boy’s mom. She’s a single mother and she hasn’t had an easy life. In my country, a boy, and especially a single mother’s son, wouldn’t be like this.
And it isn’t just this one kid. All of the kids there were great. I let them take Klara to the other side of a humongous, overgrown backyard where it looked like they were admiring a neighbor’s huge dog and going on slides and swings. It was far and I couldn’t even see what they were doing but I wasn’t worried because I know these kids and I know they will take good care of a little one.
Another observation is that there was a 3-year-old girl there who reminded me of me as a kid. She was clearly very happy playing alone for several hours. She made no effort to approach other kids, didn’t even look at them. There was a piñata, a playground, water squirters, puppet theater, but the girl had no interest in any of it. She was clearly craving solitude. I’m now not discussing what had been done to make her this way but she was a copy of me in my childhood and of N still. Yet N and I didn’t create her. We created a child who was only happy if she could run around with a crowd of kids. We just can’t get over the irony of us having a sociable child.
This was the best kid birthday party I’ve ever been to. Klara’s birthday party was good but it was in February. And it’s not the same without outdoor summer activities.