“What would you like?” he asks me. “How about you hold two jewels?”
“Well, I was going to ask for world peace, but yes, I will hold two jewels,” I reply.
He hands me two of the many flat glass marbles used for loose parts play that are scattered throughout the house.
“What is world peace?” he asks.
“That is a very good question, sweets.”
“How do we get it?”
“We could start by being kind to other people,” I suggest.
Somehow this does not sit right with him. “But that’s not world peace!” he protests.
“No,” I acknowledge, “but it’s a start.”
He turns his attention back to banging a stick on the floor, distracted entirely from the idea of world peace when the play dough he had wrapped around the top of the stick falls off. Does he know intuitively that our current lack of world peace is a complex problem not easily solved through short conversations in walk in closets?
I don’t know. I can tell, though, that he is leading me back to play, an area in which he is expert, and I go willingly with him.
We will revisit the idea of world peace another day.