Lives of the Eminent Philosophers

I Can Pick What I Do

You pack a picnic.
Apples. Cheese. A red blanket.

Then the sky turns gray.
Plip. Plop. Rain!

Oh no. You wanted sun.
It is okay to feel sad.
You can say it out loud.
“I’m sad about the rain.”

Can you stop the rain?
Can you push the clouds away?
No. Nobody can do that.

Say it with me:
I can’t pick the rain.
I can pick what I do.

You can sit and frown a while.
That is okay too.

Then look around.
You can spread the blanket inside.
You can eat under the table.
It’s like a little cave!

The rain still falls outside.
The picnic is still yours.

Some days your tower falls down.
Some days a friend can’t play.
Feel it first.
Then look for what you can do.

I can’t pick the rain.
I can pick what I do.

Now it’s your turn.
Did something go wrong today?
Tell me one thing you can do next.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: This is the Stoic idea from Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of the Eminent Philosophers, where the school runs from Zeno of Citium: much of what happens to us is out of our hands, and our response is ours. The book’s own picture, Zeno calling his shipwreck a lucky voyage, is a story even the ancient sources doubted, so a rained-out picnic stands in. The child feels sad first on purpose. The Stoics aimed at freedom from disturbing feelings altogether, which is more than a six-year-old should be asked for; the primer keeps only the choice about what to do next, and it promises no happy ending.

I Don’t Know Yet

Here is a word: fair.
You say it a lot.
Your friends say it too.
“That’s not fair!”

But what is fair?
Is it everyone getting the same?
Is it taking turns?
Hmm. It is hard to say.

That is okay.
Nobody knows everything.
Grown-ups don’t know everything either.

Say it with me:
I don’t know yet.
Let’s find out.

So you ask.
You ask a grown-up.
You ask a friend.

Then comes the hard part.
Close your mouth.
Open your ears.
Listen to the whole answer.

Then think it over.
Does the answer make sense?
You can ask one more why.

Maybe the answer helps.
Maybe it makes a new question.
That is good too.

You are not asking to win.
You are asking to learn.

I don’t know yet.
Let’s find out.

Now you pick a word.
Maybe “brave.” Maybe “friend.”
Let’s ask about it together.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: Diogenes Laertius reports that Socrates claimed to know nothing “except the fact of his ignorance,” and that he held knowledge to be the one good and ignorance the one evil. The primer keeps the plain part a child can use: not knowing yet is where finding out starts, and a good question comes with listening. The popular line “I know that I know nothing” is a modern first-person wording of that report, so it isn’t used. The fence against the misreading is the listening beat: Socrates’ questions are easy to copy as a way to win arguments, and the primer asks the child to ask in order to learn.

Need It or Want It?

You are thirsty at the park.
There is water. But no cup!

Look at your hands.
Make a little bowl.
Scoop the water. Sip.
Your hands can be a cup.

Say it with me:
Need it? Or want it?

A new toy sits in the store.
It is shiny. You want it.
Do you need it?

You still have your blocks.
You still have your ball.
You have a friend to play with.

Wanting is okay.
Everybody wants things.
You are still okay without the extra.

So what do you need?
Food. Water. A warm bed.
Hugs. People who love you.
Those you really need.

Need it? Or want it?

Fewer things means less to carry.
Less to lose. Less to worry about.

Now look around your room.
Find one thing you just want.
Then find one thing you need.
Tell me which is which.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: In Diogenes Laertius’s Lives, the Cynic Diogenes throws away his cup after seeing a child drink from cupped hands, and Socrates walks through the market saying how many things he doesn’t want. The Cynics went much further than this, down to owning almost nothing and living in public, and the famous stories about Diogenes are legends as much as history. The primer keeps only the everyday part: needs are fewer than wants. It names food, a bed, hugs and people as needs so the idea can’t turn into “I need nobody,” and it asks the child to sort, not to give things away.