Romance novels are a complete waste of time.

Right?  There’s almost nothing more useless to spend time on — at least that’s the common perception.  But I like to read cheesy romance novels when I need a brain break.  (I’m not good at doing nothing, so they’re my version of “nothing.”)  A couple months ago, this hobby intersected with my real life in an unexpected way.

Reader from the Other Side of the World

A stranger reached out to me from a Facebook group to ask a question (something that happens to me with surprising frequency), and her profile preview displayed her city name and her college.  My first reaction to these names was, “that looks like Maori; I wonder where she’s from.” (Maori is the native language/people group of New Zealand.)

My second thought was, “How do I even know to ask that?”

This Facebook user was, indeed, from New Zealand, and you’ve probably already guessed that those “stupid romance novels” were the reason I recognized that.  I’d read a couple set in New Zealand, and they used enough native words that the general pattern of the language looked familiar.  Those “worthless” novels with “no redeeming qualities” were responsible for my having gained familiarity with somebody else’s culture.

Now, I’m not suggesting that means romance novels are quality reading.  They aren’t the only thing I read, and I wouldn’t recommend they be all you read, either.  I think it’s good to fill up our children’s environments — and our own — with sights and sounds and media of excellent quality and depth and richness.

The point, though, is that we are all learning all the time, whether or not we’re trying, and from even the unlikeliest of sources.

Literary Water

My nephew had a similar — yet entirely different — experience not too long ago.

After helping his slightly-younger brother spell “dear” for the opening of a letter, he pointed out that “deer” like the animal is spelled with an “ee” rather than an “ea.” Curious, my sister asked where he learned that.  “From a water bottle.”

Breathe, Mama

The moral of the story here is that we can breathe a little easier than we usually give ourselves room to do.  We can tend to panic over whether we’re doing “enough” or we’re getting it “right” or whether our kids are going to be “behind,” or if we’re running out of time.

But kids learn.  They just do.

They might learn because of us, but they will definitely learn in spite of us — because it’s wired into humanity to learn and grow.

So, yes, offer your children rich literature.  Surround them with beautiful things.  Provide opportunities for things you know will enrich their lives.

But don’t panic whether it’s enough, often enough, early enough, because they will find ways to learn.  (And so will you.)