I took some time off to go to a poetry reading and gallery opening for the gobsmackingly good book artist Enid Mark.  I continue to pine for one of her books.  That will be a long time coming.  But that is not the point.  The point is that one of the poets brought her young daughter with her. 

The poet was brilliant in more ways than one.  The room was hushed.  Eyes were closed, people soaked up words and turns of phrase.  And up spoke the toddler.  It was a chirrup.  But the poet/mom smiled, kept her footing, and moved on. Sure, it happened a couple of times.  The toddler was with an older escort, who kept her distracted and moving.  When she became too rowdy, near dinnertime, she was taken on a field trip, outside, before too many heads turned.  No one seemed too bothered.  The other readers were patient and kind.  There was no "Situation."

Still, having been in a couple of situations where even sitting quietly in a familiar neighborhood place was enough to inspire outrage among some tourists (without basis, I might add), - I was really moved and encouraged.  Children learn from presence.  Theirs and ours. In all kinds of settings, from mundane to extraordinary.

This little one had live poetry read to her, saw an audience respond, and knew that her mom was one of those reading.  That's cool.  Better?  When she's grown, she'll still remember these poets.  We could do a lot worse.