Bucket Filling

“Mom, you’re filling my bucket,” Brandon said, after I told him how smart he is, how proud I am to be his mother.

“What does that mean?” I asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

“Everybody has an invisible bucket,” he began, “and when you compliment someone or do nice things for them, you are filling it.”

Then, he picked up his backpack. “Other people filled my bucket today too,” he said and he pulled out little pieces of construction paper other Kindergartners had scrawled kind words on. We read them and he told me who wrote them. One was just an address because his friend wants him to come over. One claimed Brandon as a BFF. Two said they loved him.

“You’re the best mom in the world,” he said after we finished reading them, to fill my bucket.

School has taught Brandon how to read and write. Already, he knew to be kind. Already, he was filling my bucket, every day, before he had the language for it.

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