Moms wear a lot of hats: van driver, boo-boo kisser, and grammarian, to name a few.  My favorite chapeau is a beaten-up felt number the color of the ant hill my son kicked over at six, just before whipping out his magnifying glass to direct the sun.  That lecture about caring for all God's creatures, big and small, had me snugging my teaching hat closer to my head.

So with years of teaching under my belt, both inside and outside the classroom, it came as a bit of a shock to me that our children have something to teach us.  Wasn't mothering a one-way street all the way down from Mt. Olympus?

In particular, I've learned to pay close attention to those girls who come behind us.  My daughter has taught me a thing or two about how to update my look.  If it hadn't been for her, I'd still be wearing my husband's black gym socks--fetchingly pushed down to around my shins--on my date with the treadmill.  I hadn't noticed that over the past twenty years styles in sock wear had evolved.  Now I sport foot coverings in pinks and reds that hit the sweet spot right above my ankle, not, God forbid, right below it.

But it's not just fashion that our daughters have to teach us; it's bigger than that.  A few months ago our daughter's friend, Jenny, was over.  She loves my Southern-style macaroni and cheese, and if she plays her cards right, I just might show her how to make it.  (I know, I know, there I go teaching again.)  Just us girls were sitting around, chatting, and the subject of someone else's bad behavior came up.  Jenny sighed and said, "That's just not the decent thing to do."

Decent?  Decent?  On the blackboard of my life, my daughter's friend had just scrawled a new vocabulary word for me. That wasn't a word we used growing up, and not one I'd particularly pulled out during teachable moments as an adult.  Though I had raised my children to do the right thing, be good, etc., etc., it didn't occur to me to use the "D" word. 

As the word came out of Jenny's mouth, I liked the old-fashioned sense of it.  I rolled it around in my mind, the "D" firm, while the following syllable seemed quieter, blanketing the "D" with kindness.  "Do the right thing" could start wars.  "Be good" waggles its finger promising punishment if not followed to the letter of the law.  "Choose decency" calls out for a basic underlying humanity towards all God's creatures, big and small.

When the school bell of life rings, I look forward to seeing what else I can learn from the young women approaching the front of the room.  And, if I should ever have grandchildren, many years from now, and one of them kicks over an ant hill, I'll make sure to tell him or her, "That's just not the decent thing to do."