Taste, Touch, Smell, Sight, Hearing and Intuition

That little voice is usually a gift from God.

Children never cease to amaze me. Their intuition, or 'sixth sense,' is something most adults outgrow or stop listening to when jobs and families enter the picture. Somehow I managed to retain that, and I pray each day my children never outgrow such a special gift. While my kids provide me with proof each and every day, it was a beautiful spring day in 2001 that I will never forget.

NASHVILLE, TN - My daughter, Samantha, attended afternoon kindergarten. My two boys ate lunch before noon, so I didn't often have the opportunity to join them at school during mealtime.

That Friday was special. Samantha's kindergarten class left school at 9 a.m. on a field trip to the zoo, so I had the morning to myself. I showered and took my time with the hair and makeup thing. I put on the 'hippest' clothes in my closet and decided to surprise the boys.

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No offense to the school cafeteria, but I was on another life-changing diet, so I picked up my lunch before driving to school. After signing in at the office, I made my way to the first-grade pod and peeked inside Michael's classroom. It was a rough Monday through Thursday for my soon-to-be 7-year-old, and I thought a surprise visit from mom might make him feel special.'Mommy!' he squealed when his eyes met mine. 'What are you doing here?'

'I thought I'd have lunch with you, sweetie,' I said as he buried his face in my hair.

To my heart's delight, first graders still thought it was still cool to have lunch with your mom. Michael grabbed my hand and led the way. (It's a turf thing - he knows the school much better than I and reveled in showing me where to go.) He introduced me to everyone at the lunch table.

We talked about his morning, which was warning-free. We talked about his spelling test, which he aced. And we talked about recess.

'Mom?' he asked after a minute of munching peanut butter and jelly in silence.

'Yes, honey.'

'How come you never cry?'

Whoa! Stop the lunch bus. Where did that come from? It might as well have been a lightning bolt, striking fast and furious, right upside my head.

'Well, let's see,' I stalled. 'Mommies cry sometimes. We cry when we're happy, and we cry when we're sad.'

'You never cry,' he said.

'What can I say, honey? I'm a pretty happy lady.'

'Oh,' he said.

Oh? That's it? Just 'Oh?' The topic disappeared as quickly as it began. I didn't give it a second thought.

'Want to come out to recess, Mom?' he continued.

'I suppose I have a few minutes,' I replied.

We held hands all the way out to the playground. Michael ran to the basketball court and grabbed a ball. He wore his YMCA baseball shirt with his name on the back. Another first grader ran up and greeted Michael with a smile.

'Hey, Mike!' he said. 'Pass the ball!'

I was thrilled. In previous conversations about the playground, my darling boy left me with the impression that he usually played alone. So this special moment was a treat - or so I thought. Michael was a little skeptical.

'Come on, Mike,' the first-grader urged. 'I'll pass it back to you.

'The kid kept calling him 'Mike.' That should have been my first clue. He didn't know Michael (or he would have known my son preferred to be called 'Michael'). The boy just saw the name on Michael's shirt, which read 'Mike' because it was cheaper than 'Michael.'

Reluctantly, Michael passed the ball.

You can guess what happened next. The boy took off down the court and never returned with the ball. Unfortunately, Michael chased after him.

'Hey, kid,' he called. 'Pass it!'

My heart broke, and I couldn't hold back the tears as I watched from the bench. He didn't know it, but my little guy had just predicted the future with a simple question.

I intervened. Now all the psychologists and psychiatrists in the reading audience are more than likely shaking their heads at me, making that awful sound my mother used to make with her tongue and her teeth. Don't worry. I intervened in such a manner that the pain-in-the-rear, bully-in-the-making kid didn't even realize what happened.

'Let's shoot some hoops!' I told the kid. 'Pass it here. It's been a while, but maybe I can make it.'

Again you're shaking your collective heads, aren't you? I was just as sneaky and manipulative as the kid, and I felt bad about it - for about two seconds. I didn't exclude the child. I just made sure that we all took turns shooting the ball. He eventually tired of the game and left.

Michael will have to learn to stand up for himself, I realize that. But on this special surprise lunch day, I wanted only happy memories for him. I also realized that one day soon he'd be suckered one time too many and would harden his heart to kids who don't play fair. That has its good and bad points, I suppose.

I only hope the intuition lasts forever.

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