My Three Grandsons
David Elkind, the Tufts University professor of child development, reminds us that, “every child is like all other children, like some other children, and like no other child.” Or, as he says, there is the biological, social, and psychological child.
My biological grandson will eventually walk upright and use language to make his wants known, just like every other child on the planet. He also will grow up speaking languages common to millions of others, English (by his schooling), French (by his mother), and Spanish (by his father).
And just like all other Tampians my grandson will be surprised when he leaves Tampa for the first time and sees that the world is not flat and that year round sunlight and flowering plants, towering queen palms and massive live oaks are not the norm.
But from birth, and even before if we could be aware of it, his every look, word, and action will be all his own, and that little, if anything, of what and who he really is, of his likes and dislikes, let alone what and how he will learn both in and out of school, will he share with his schoolmates and peers.
Biology does make him like all the others, as does speaking French make him like all those who speak that language, but the differences between him and everyone else quickly overshadow the likenesses. And my grandson will encounter his own uniqueness, and, although less quickly, realize that there will never be anyone else just like him.
He will encounter his aloneness, and if he can learn to live with it, not be overcome by it, it will be the germ of a kind of greatness. For there is nothing more promising and exciting, and a bit frightening, than the moment one realizes that what one has is all one’s own, and that one had better make use of it, for no one else ever can or will.
