“What was your favorite thing today?” I asked my then four-year-old at bedtime. Earlier that day, we had our monthly “special afternoon” together, where we went to an indoor playspace with a giant artificial mountain and stopped at Starbucks afterwards for hot chocolate.

“Getting my journal!” he exclaimed. After hot chocolate, we had picked out a journal for him decorated with smiling sloths. Although he can’t write more than his name yet, he had been telling us stories and asking us to write them down. Instead of pieces of folded paper scattered all over the house, we thought it would be better to write them down in one place.

Hearing this answer warmed my writer’s soul to the core. It was completely unexpected and completely genuine.

To me, story is essential. It’s essential to everyone, although most people may not realize it. But as a writer who creates stories from both everyday events and research usually communicated in technical terms, it holds a special place in my life. I remember writing stories as far back as second grade. I’ve gone by some form of the name Storiteller online for 21 years. (It’s currently my Twitter handle.) While I speak the languages of “Scientist” and “Kid” and “Mom,” my favorite language is story.

So hearing my son so enthusiastic about writing stories was a special point of connection with me. He may want to be a daddy and a drummer when he grows up, but he wants to be a storyteller now. Shared moments danced in my head.

As always, the reality is a little different. Inevitably, he wants to write his stories at inconvenient times – before bedtime or right as we’re trying to get out the door. As he tells them, he alternates in pace between talking faster than I’m capable of writing down in legible print (rather than my scrawled cursive) and taking long, interminable pauses. His stories frequently tickle my sense of logic to the point of allergy. His characters lack motivations and because he avoids conflict like the plague, not much happens at all.

But I want to encourage him, not squash his love. So I hold my tongue, nod and act as scribe. Because that’s what he needs from me.

Just as he’s taught me to listen in conversation, he’s teaching me how to listen in my writing. To turn off the criticism and just accept things as beautiful as they are. To look at his work with a mom’s admiration rather than a writer’s sharp eye.

In doing that, I hope I’ll be a little kinder to my own and other’s writing. I’ll still be a fierce editor, but look with kindness as my first reaction. isn’t that what all of us want – for someone to listen to our stories with kindness? As a storyteller myself, it’s the least I can do.

For more on times when our kids need us to listen to their needs regardless of our expectations, read When the Reality of Being a Mom Doesn’t Match Your Expectations.

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