I took my two-year-old daughter to a T-ball game the son of a friend was playing in. I sat on the front row of bleachers with my friend and her six children, the seventh being on the field. Repeatedly, her children were asking for money to get food from the concession stand, and just as regularly, my daughter walked along the front of our bleacher sampling the food from all her new best friends. This didn’t bother me until I heard a somewhat-confused murmur from the second row of bleachers. Sure enough, my daughter had made her way to the next tier, casually grabbing nachos, candy, etc. from complete strangers, as though they were all there expressly to provide her with delicious foods. I grabbed her, apologized, and hoped those weren’t parents of kids from the opposing team.
Nov1
Motherhood and Martial Arts 
It takes a village, or at least a community to raise our children. Just think if this had been a scene from a very small town where everyone knew everyone—someone would have said something like, “Remember to say please,” as they shared all their goodies with your daughter. Here’s to wishing that bleachers can adopt themselves as a village and share in the goodness and growth of children. Thanks for this glimpse of American Live—barb
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