“I know the other one. It’s the sense of walking,” said a little boy sitting on the back row.
He was naming a sixth sense during the lesson on the five senses. He got the idea from Mr. Potato Head’s big blue tennis shoes.
The intern taught to a group of wiggling, talkative four-year-olds. Mr. Potato Head was the focus. His bug eyes, pink ears, red tongue and oval nose were hints. So were his hands that looked like Mickey Mouse’s gloves.
When the intern asked about each body part, the children guessed. His eyes were for the sense of sight.
Ears – the sense of hearing.
Nose – the sense of smell.
Tongue – the sense of taste.
And his hands – the sense of touch.
She didn’t mention Mr. Potato Head’s shoes until the student on the back row piped up.
I chuckled while the intern tried to convince him walking wasn’t one of the five senses. I’m not sure she convinced me.
I’ve taken long walks for half my life, through neighborhoods, in the woods, and alongside the river and ocean. The habit started when I was pregnant with our son who is now 27. I rolled around on my stomach in an aerobics class until I found walking an alternative for weight loss and stress reduction.
What’s more, on my walks, I noticed nature – splotchy bark on a holly tree, flowerbeds full of impatiens, and the balmy breeze that smelled of honeysuckle. I laughed out loud at a neighbor’s puppy while he barked and jumped wildly behind their glass door. Friends joined me once in a while. Those walks were some of the best.
Turns out, the little boy on the back row was right.
Here’s to you, Mr. Potato Head, and to your big blue tennis shoes for reminding us about the good sense of walking.
What’s your take on the sense of walking?
WRite wHere I’m supposed to be – Dear God, you have lessons for four-year-olds and forty-year-olds. We’re never too old to learn good sense.