Reality Bites

We’re driving along in the car, and suddenly, BAM Mt. Rainer, pristine and white against a perfect blue sky.  Emily shouts, “Look Mom!  A Mountain!”.  

“Yeah hon, that’s Mt. Rainer”

“No, a mountain!”

“I know, Mt. Rainer”

“That mountain, right there!”

Then I figure out that I’m not explaining myself, that Emily has not been around mountains enough to know that they’re named.  I tell her it’s the mountain’s name, and finally everything is clear.  

And then I know what she’ll say next before she opens her mouth, “Mom, your dad climbed mountains, right?”.  Her only association with the mountains is also one of her only associations with my father, who passed away eleven years ago.  She knows he built the dresser in her room, that he played guitar, and that he climbed mountains.  It was difficult telling her a few years ago, when looking at old family photos, that my dad had died.  Mostly because I didn’t want her to know that not only do people die, but that people we know have died, and sometimes parents die.  

I wish I could shelter her from the harsh, cruel world forever.  I wish that’s she’ll never be picked on, singled, out, or hurt.  Already I see it happening.  A boy shouts at Emily and me, in the school’s library, “Hey, she looks like a boy!” (Emily’s hair is short).  And I fight the urge to backhand that little brat.  I choose to ignore, and he says it again, as if I hadn’t heard.  I stare at his parent, who is oblivious to her child’s behavior, and choose to say quietly, “Well, that isn’t very kind”.  Did I handle that right?  Should I have talked to his mom?  Should I have given Emily the chance to speak up for herself?  

I talked to Emily about it later, and she agreed that it wasn’t nice of the boy, and didn’t seem to be fazed.  I hope, more than anything, that Emily will always have the self confidence to let things like that roll off her back, and just be the wonderful person she wants to be, even if I have to hold my tongue as she walks out of the house with a corduroy jacked paired with stretch pants and an orange sarong wrapped around her neck like a scarf.  Although we do have to enforce wearing underwear (Emily would rather not), I’ll let going without socks slide, since I’ve never cared for the things myself.

It’s so interesting to see the kids’ personalities come out.  I’m curious to see what Emily will turn out to be.  And then there’s Will, who has just started to show his little personality more and more.  He’s started to have a bit of a temper, and gets quite indignant if we, say, close the door to the bathroom so he can’t get into the garbage or throw himself into the tub.  And then this week, when I was gone for a while, he screamed for an hour straight for poor Ian, who was already dealing with Emily, who refused to clean her room (I can dimly recall some pretty huge standoffs with my parents over my room.  I can say that now I get it, I do.  

But that’s the negative, Will has also started pointing now, which is pretty neat.  He can tell use, sort of, what he’s thinking about, or what he’s curious about, which really is everything.  The kids’ favorite new pastime is playing “cooking” which involves dragging every pot I own out of the cabinets and pounding on them for a while.  It’s a good game, and I don’t discourage it, I like to see them playing together and using their imaginations.  

Whatever their personalities turn out to be, I’m glad they’re able to just enjoy being kids, that they can just be themselves. Will, sitting on the floor, grinning up at his big sister as she waves a twisty straw in the air, and talking in her sing-song pretend voice.