Beech Tree News Network

My granddaughter does not recognize the four time zones of the continental United States.  She lives in her own time zone.  We (her family) are constantly asking, “Sabria, are you ready? Are you finished yet? Can we make this happen in our lifetime?”  She is puzzled by all the hoopla, saying things like, “Why is everybody always rushing me?”

This is maddening for the rest of us, who do recognize the four time zones of the continental United States.  Many times, I have tried, and failed, to reason with her, and to explain that time doesn’t stand still.  It passes, and once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Her first-grade teacher, Ms. Skaggs, had to deal with this, and dealt with it more graciously than most people could have, I might add, considering she had a roomful of other first-graders.  She had to constantly coax Sabria to “Come on” as she sauntered down the hall at the far end of the line.  One day, toward the end of the school year, Ms. Skaggs told Sabria she could get the milk cart that day.  She was amazed as Sabria sprang into action and hurried down the hall at a speed she hadn’t seen in her all year.  “Sabria, I didn’t know you could move that fast!” Ms. Skaggs said, upon her return.  “I wanted to get the milk cart,” Sabria said.

A couple of weeks ago, after a particularly frustrating homework day with my granddaughter, I thought about Ms. Skaggs and the milk cart.  “If I’m going to get her attention, I’m going to have to use something she really cares about,” I said to myself.

Sabria is Garey’s granddaughter through and through, especially when it comes to money.  When you take her to the store to buy something, she never spends all of her money, and she counts the change she has left over before she puts it back in her safe place when she gets home.  This gave me an idea.  I wrote “5 minutes” on 12 pieces of paper to represent 1 hour.  I put 12 nickels into a Ziplock bag.  

The next day, during a math assignment, Sabria decided to take a bathroom break.  Usually, I would say something like, “Hurry up” or “Don’t take too long,” but I didn’t say any of those things that day.  I could here her singing and going through drawers, running water and whatever else she was doing to entertain herself.  I waited patiently by the kitchen trashcan until she emerged 10 minutes later.

When she walked into the kitchen, I took 2 of the “5 minute” pieces of paper, wadded them up then threw them into the trash can.  “You were in the bathroom for 10 minutes.  Those were two “5 minute” pieces of paper.  That 10 minutes is gone, but hey, you know what?  It was just 10 minutes.”

I took 2 nickels from the Ziplock bag.  I threw those into the trashcan.  The reaction was immediate.

“Gee! Are you crazy!” Sabria yelled, as she headed over to dig the nickels from the trash.

“Don’t you touch those nickels,” I warned, “they’re gone.  On Wednesday, they will be on their way to the landfill, where they will resurface in a million years, only to be found by two kids who wonder what the heck they are.  But hey, they’re just worth 10 cents, they don’t matter, do they?”

Sabria was very quiet as we worked our way through the math assignment.  When she took her next break, I waited to see what she would do.  Two minutes later she emerged from the bathroom, yelling, “I’m coming, Gee! Don’t throw anymore nickels in the trashcan!”

The things that motivate us are as varied as we are.  You can throw nickels into the trash can all day long, and I’ll sit on the couch and watch you.  Offer me a pastry from Riley’s Bakery, and I’ll detail your car for you.

(PS. Don’t tell Garey about the nickels, he’ll spend his Thanksgiving hunting them down.)