My friend from school who is also Daisy's teacher called me last night to tell me a Daisy story. That one. You know, every gray hair on my head. Well her class spent a part of the day brainstorming and making some sketches of their vision of the playground and outdoor space at our new school building which will be our home next year. I suspect there were many good stories, but Daisy's idea was something she called a "miss you tunnel."
"What's a miss you tunnel?" I asked her teacher, who told me she asked Daisy the same thing. And Daisy had just kept repeating the title, as if that made any sense at all. Finally her teacher told her she needed to explain it.
"Well, it would be a tunnel on the playground big enough to sit in and you go into it and on the inside walls are pictures of all the people who used to go to our school but moved away or changed schools. And you go there when you miss them."
And since of course it's all about me, I thought about this and how many miss-you tunnels I would have had my picture in growing up. How different it must be to be the kids who stay instead of the kids who move. How their stories will begin "When Jenny was in our class back in 3rd grade" instead of "Back when I was at St. Martin's in 3rd grade with Jenny and Chrissy and all those girls".
We've chosen the better part.