Posted in Family, Grandparenthood, Thanks

Get Down on the Floor

Dad, this is you and your granddaughter, my then toddler, a long time ago.
 
I could always find you right here.
 
On the floor.
 
Surrounded by my kids and their cousins (and toys and crafts and books).
 
On the floor.
 
At their level. Listening closely. Playing. Getting to know them.
Doing what they love.
 
On the floor.
 
Not too long ago, I watched another one of your granddaughters, my then teenager, crouch down to speak with a child who was asking her questions.
 
I was pleasantly puzzled.
 
“Why did you do that, crouch down like that?” I asked her in the car on the way home.
 
“I learned that from you, Mom. That’s what you do. It feels like it shows basic respect for them even if they are little.”
 
“Oh my goodness,” I responded, “I learned that from my dad. It just comes automatically.”
 
We chatted away about how getting down, becoming the same size and having our eyes at the same level might just make little kids feel like we are equals and that we are both of the same importance.
 
BASIC RESPECT.
 
So Dad, thanks.
 
Thanks for getting down on the floor.
 
With me first. And then with my kids.
And in your heart, with everyone you meet.
 
Thanks for being a respecter of persons.
 
No matter if they are…
 
3, 23 or 83.
Disagree with you or think exactly like you.
Brown-skinned or blue-eyed.
The mailman or the doctor.
Asking for or giving you help.
Your grandchildren or your coworkers.
 
The world (including me) has a lot to learn from you right about now.
 
It would do us ALL good to crouch all the way down, listen closely, play a little with each other and perhaps understand one another just a little bit more. We might even figure out that we love some of the very same things.
 
BASIC RESPECT.
 
The floor is looking like the right place to start.

Author:

I am a wife, mom, daughter, women's group leader, sister, marriage mentor, friend, speaker and lover of Jesus.

2 thoughts on “Get Down on the Floor

  1. As a child it was so obvious when an adult actually “saw” me. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my parents, but a teacher, a doctor, a Sunday School teacher, would look right into my eyes and talk with ME. What a gift.

Leave a Reply