Vivek, whose name translates to wisdom, though society seems to have misplaced the meaning entirely, told me something last week. His son, freshly three, not even all of three feet tall and mostly knees, was due to begin school. You know, school, that mythical space where children once went to eat glue, hide erasers in their socks, and learn the alphabet via singalongs about anthropomorphic animals. That age of wonder, when toy trucks talk, ants are fascinating, and the world is still a grand mystery with no user manual. And like what happened to my daughter when she was a toddler, the wasp in the corner stung her, setting off a loud, unstoppable cry, when she tried to pick that beautiful thing (?!) up!Naturally, like so many earnest young parents, Vivek and his wife went looking for a play school. Not a factory, not a coding boot camp, just a place where their child could play, touch sand, meet other mini-humans, learn to share a crayon without legal arbitration. Ideal, really.
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