Wild World
Tate grabs my hand and drags me into the family room. I’m resisting. Aware that she doesn’t grab my hand as much as she used to and trusting that I must follow but inside, listing the things I was in the middle of doing and how not playful I feel etc.
She tells Echo to play Yusaf Cat Stevens. Not rap, not country, not just ‘her’ music. But, ours.
Time to give in.
She turns the volume up and we start to dance. I flash to when she was little and how often and easily I’d scoop her up into my arms and dance her around the kitchen.
How when she was too big for that we’d ‘waltz’ and I’d dip her (even though it’d hurt my back the taller and taller she got) and we’d laugh and laugh to the drama of the classic, romantic move …
Now here we are - she’s 11. I’m timeless. Belting out the words to It’s a Wild World, the lyrics I’ve known by heart since I was her age, sinking in.
We’re holding hands and twirling and coming in and out and I’m sad. So sad to see her so damn big. Sad for how serious her eyes look into mine and then look away, playing constantly with the in and out, close and far, dance of tweendom.
“I’ll always remember you like a child, girl …” plays through our home and my heart aches. With pride. And joy.
And helplessness. I’ll always remember her like a child. I want her to always be a child.
Yet, here she is, a brave, beautiful young woman.
And, I’m still a child. Sort of, always. Wanting. Wishing. Dreaming. Scared.
I’m everywhere in my head. In my heart. Trying, trying so hard to come into the present, when she suddenly snaps me there with …
“This is LIFE, Mom! This song is real l i f e.”
My tears blur my smile back and I nod. I nod.
That, it is.
