Fifteen Years Ago (or, thanks jon, for pointing out I was smarter at 17 than I am now)

  In the classroom, I've learned names and dates and rules.  I've sat, for hours, listening and recording what is thought to be essential.  A percentage of this knowledge is useful or interesting.  The rest is learned for the sake of learning to learn-- and promptly forgotten.
  In the presence of a child, I learn what is truly essential without sitting or listening or recording.  I witness the wisdom of childhood, and promise myself I will never forget.
  In the presence of Jonathan, I've learned the importance of sand between my toes and in my shoes, and of being truly dirty.
  He has taught me that being four-and-a-half means jumping over tide pools and sometimes falling in, and either way, experiencing sheer joy.
  That unbroken sand dollars are easiest to find immediately after high tide, and that you've got to pick up every single one because there is no way to tell if they are broken or just partially covered.  And that it's sometimes best to leave the good ones in the sand so that someone else can find them, too.
  That low tide is the best time to see the starfish and anemones, and the only time to jump from the huge rock that is otherwise inaccessible.
 That it's necessary to bring an abundance of tennis balls, because no matter how well Emma fetches, a few undoubtedly get lost or stolen by bigger, faster dogs.
 That the beach is a big, big place, which is a very good thing because a tired dog is a happy dog.
 That sun is great, but rain can be even better.  And that it's possible to be out in a storm without getting a cold because bad germs, not being wet, make you sick.
 That rain gear only hampers movement and there's nothing wrong with being soaked to the bone.  It just makes the hot chocolate taste that much better when you finally come inside.
 That waking up early is best because the beach is rarely windy before breakfast. But that crayons and good books are necessities because of the real enemies-- high winds and lightning.
 That watches only get in the way and that bedtime is a relative term, depending on when the sun goes down.
 That sunsets are to be watched from outside, regardless of the weather.
 That bonfires are best after dark, and that burnt marshmallows are just fine if you eat them with enough chocolate.
 That no matter how much beach is left in the bathtub at the end of the day, the ocean always makes more.
 That a lumpy rental house mattress feels like heaven when you've played hard enough.
 That lessons are to be lived, not spoken. And that I, at seventeen, have lots to learn from a four-and-a half year old even though they tell him I'm in charge.
 Taking care of Jonathan has taught me that there are lessons to be learned when I least expect it.  That the knowledge of names and dates and rules means nothing without the wisdom to live.
  Most importantly, he's taught me that I will never be too old for sand between my toes.  And that despite high winds and lightning, there will always be tide pools before breakfast.