Peanuts In My Pocket

My grandson Dean asked me, “Hey grandpa, have you ever wanted to go to New York to be a new man?”

My grandsons are obsessed with Hamilton. I hear them singing along to different songs almost every day. They’ve memorized the lyrics to a few and can sing them on demand. It’s cute and endearing. When we’re in the car, I have to give up my phone so they can choose which songs to play. I can hear the soundtrack in my head now—it’s my new earworm.

Dean then asked, “Do you know what caused Americans to fight the Revolutionary War?”

“No, what caused the war?” I responded.

“Grandpa, it was taxes! Do you know what taxes are?”

He proceeded to explain his understanding of how taxes worked. He did a great job describing the Boston Tea Party and even used a candy bar tax as an example to illustrate how “evil” King George III was.

“If you bought a candy bar, King George III could tax you a million dollars and take the money back to England. You’d have to pay it if you wanted the candy bar.”

When I asked how he learned all this, he told me he wanted to write a non-fiction book about the reasons for the Revolutionary War. He specified “non-fiction” because we write fiction together, and I have 5 or 6 of his stories mixed in with mine. Apparently, his school history teacher is encouraging his interest and giving him some guidance. We spent a good 15 minutes discussing what caused the war—Dean has great ideas.

Dean is in 3rd grade. My memories of 3rd grade are a bit hazy, but I can say with certainty that I didn’t know about the Revolutionary War or its causes back then. I was busy struggling with reading, math, and the incomprehensible cursive handwriting. But Dean and I do have something in common: we love to learn about whatever piques our interest. At his age, my obsessions were the Lakers, Jerry West, and the mysterious, deep ocean with its strange creatures.

My third-grade teacher didn’t encourage my curiosity. As a late transfer into her class, I was behind my classmates—so much so that they considered placing me in the “slow” class, which at the time was for students with severe learning disabilities. If I asked too many questions, I was sent outside to sit with my back to a pole while she taught the lesson of the day. Third grade was rough, and at that point, I was only reading picture books. I wonder how different things would’ve been if we had the internet back in the ’60s.

I eventually caught up with my classmates, but I never excelled. One teacher took an interest in me and helped me learn to read. Once I could read, the library became my refuge, and I spent most of my time with books. I never did well in school, but I made up for it with reading and self-directed learning.

This morning, I’ve been brushing up on U.S. history. I’m sure Dean will have a million questions, and I need to be ready to answer them. It’s almost like being in school again, but this time, it’s fun.