School Days.

Alex is my friend's 2 year-old. I spent a Saturday morning with him a few weeks back while his mom was at an appointment. After he waved goodbye at mom, we settled onto the floor in front of the toy box.

First he pulled out a lion. "Lion, roarrrrrr," he pronounced, handing it to me. He waited a second for me to figure out my role, decided I didn't get it, so pulled out another toy and handed it to me.

Ah. My turn.

Uh oh. What exactly was this thing? Bendable, purple and obviously well-loved, I didn't have a clue. I looked at Alex, his big blue eyes eager, an expectant grin on his face.

"Horsey, neeeeigggh," I tried.

He scowled at me, shook his head. "Dog. Woof," he corrected me, taking the toy back and holding it close.

Seriously? I'm being schooled by a 2 year-old.

Granted, I don't have kids of my own. And it's been years since I spent every Saturday evening babysitting the little boy down the street. Back then, the routine was I read to him, watched him play in his sandbox, then put him to bed and he fell asleep. I watched television until his parents came home. Not exactly two-way interaction.

Alex and his mom have had their routine since the day he was born. They talk. They read together. They explore. While mom's at work, he's safe and happy at one of their city's highest- quality child care centers.

There's a lesson there.