Helping out a new boy

I picked you up from nursery the other day and was greeted with a very lovely story of something that had happened during the course of the day. Usually, I almost can't stand listening to the nursery staff talk about your day. It's excruciating. That sounds horrible, but it's a fact. I'd almost sooner they said literally nothing and just handed you back in the cold way they truly want to hand you back to me.

I think it's the concept of receiving the information about your day via you. For example: the feedback always opens the same: "Noah's had a lovely day today, haven't you, Noah?" As if you might say no. Then it's, "You've played in the sand pit; you've had a game of football; you've loved playing on the bikes, haven't you?" And all the while, I make a point not to react to any of it because I want to make the point that the conversation she is having is with you and not with me. I am made to feel like I am eavesdropping on a very one way conversation. I don't feel even remotely involved.

The other day was everso slightly different because after the generic feedback aimed indirectly at me, via you, one of the other nurses told a proper anecdote about your day. It went like this:

There was a new boy in the nursery and he was doing nothing but cry, cry, cry because he wasn't used to it. The nursery staff asked you to look after him (we like to think you were given the burden of this responsibility because you are an inherently warm and loving boy; just the kind of boy this situation required.) Anyway, you stopped what you were doing, went and grabbed the boy by the hand and said, "C'mon, I'll show you the trains!"

That killed me!

Then, this same staff member who told me that story said she watched you both. The boy was still crying, "Mummy! Mummy!" You put your hand on his shoulder, looked into his teary eyes and said,
"Mummy's gone to work." So he moved on to,
"Daddy! Daddy!" and you replied,
"Daddy's gone to work as well."
I think what your mummy and I both loved about that story is the fact that you sound like a wise old hand of the institution. You're kind of like Red in The Shawshank Redemption.

When we get home from nursery, your mummy is usually still at work, so we have a nice little routine. We each have a nice cup of tea and a biscuit.

It was over this tea and biscuits that I asked you about the boy. I asked you, "Why was that boy crying?" You put your biscuit down, gulped your tea and said,
"Because he hasn't got any words."
I loved this explanation because it showed your understanding. I think it showed you understood the boy's frustration because he was unable to communicate properly and this was adding to his woes of missing his parents. Lovely.

When mummy was home, I wanted her to hear you say that lovely thing. So I asked you the question again, "Noah, why was that little boy crying at nursery?"

You had a good think, then answered:

"Because...because....errrrmmmmm...because...dinosaurs don't...like...eggs...?

Profound.