Seeing yourself inside out, outside in

So it’s yet another break from the book list to talk about my daughter some more. Of course, she’s the apple of both of my eyes, so she consumes my thoughts quite often. This summer as she gets bigger and bigger, we’ve experienced a lot of firsts. As I mentioned before, she’s been to her first parade. And today, she took her first ‘swim.’ I guess that’s not entirely true because I got her in a big pool last summer a couple of times. It totally freaked her out so we left well enough alone for a while. But today, I pulled out her little baby pool that I inflated myself with all of my hot air and filled it with water.

She donned her first real swimsuit (plus sandals and sun block) and after a quick check in the mirror because she felt the need to admire herself, out into the yard we went. And she LOVED it. She splashed and announced proudly to her dad and grandad on the phone, “I swimming! I swimming!” After playing for a while, she decided it was time to get out and play in the yard. We played on the deck with her numerous outdoor toys. Then, we got out our handy dandy scoops and attempted to play catch with the wiffle ball. Looking at her there with her little swimsuit, yellow baseball cap, and sandals on, I was amazed at how much she looked like me. Obviously, the red hair and fair skin make her look a lot like me. And even though on most days folks say that she looks a lot like Brian, today I think she looked just like me. Not just like the baby pictures of me at the age of two, but what I remember me looking like as a child, from the inside looking out. I looked at her little legs, noticeably still cold from her dip in the pool and noticed the almost transparent skin. Her little purplish veins showing through, it was almost as if I were looking down at my own legs. Poor thing, she has my legs. The small curls beginning to pop up all over her head remind me of looking at my own locks in the mirror. Her eyes, her ears, her nose… remind me so much of myself.

It’s a scary proposition to look at yourself in front of you. In some ways, it’s terrifying to think of all of the roads that I’ve traveled and note in my mind which ones in particular I wish for her not to go down. At the same time, it holds great hope that perhaps I can impart some wisdom to her (if I have any to share) and keep her from the things that have damaged me in this world. What encourages me the most are the attributes (not just physical) that I see in her that I like about myself. Her spunk and free spirit, her independence and believe-it-or-not delicate strength are already showing through even at two. At the same time, she possesses characteristics inherited from me that I do not admire – stubbornness, willfulness and tendency to quickly give up when she does not immediately master a task.

Ahh, the great mystery and struggle of parenting lies in what we wish to protect our children from. For I know that those experiences which I would give anything to shelter her from are the exact experiences that reinforced who I am and gave me direction in my life. They shaped and molded me and while they weren’t pleasant, they were essential. So, as day by day, I face raising my daughter with intense fear and intense excitement, I pray for strength to watch her encounter difficult situations and flourish, not that they would be removed from her path but that she would be changed and grow from them.

Things that keep me up at night

Ok, so I’m going to pause today from the book review and comment on what I consider to be a very strange cultural phenomenon. This past weekend, Brian and I took our nearly two-year-old daughter, Anna, to her very first parade. Every year, our little community of Greenwood holds a Freedom Festival (usually the weekend before the actual Fourth holiday). We’ve lived here for close to five years and we’ve never, ever been before. So, this past Saturday morning, we rolled out of bed with nothing particular to do and we thought that we would venture down to the parade and street fair. Both were wonderful and we had a great time seeing things through Anna’s eyes, which were enthralled with all of the sights and sounds of the event. She loved the free balloons and goodies being passed out at the fair and she really enjoyed every bit of the parade. She waved with zest and blew kisses at the soldiers marching by (I must say this made her daddy just a wee bit nervous) and she pointed at the fire trucks with glee. And don’t even get me started on what she thought about the free candy being thrown and passed out. She even enjoyed her very first Dum Dum sucker. As she sat in the backseat in her car seat on the way home from the parade, with each lick of the strawberry sweetness she would proclaim, “THANK YOU Mommy… THANK YOU Daddy!” I swear her voice could make the hardest heart melt into to a pool of ooey gooey sweetness. Anyway, all of this is subsidiary but I thought you’d enjoy the trip.

What I’m really writing about today is something that totally and completely creeped me out at the parade. It’s something that I’ve seen a zillion times before but never really thought about. All through my childhood I think that I actually even enjoyed these acts, but now I’m wondering what it’s all about… I’m talking about the Shriners that ride around in those little cars and teeny, tiny motorcycles. I mean really, WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?!

I guess saying that I enjoyed those little boogers as a child might be a slight mistruth. I actually had a friend who had her toes ran over at the Corn Festival Parade in Sullivan, IN one year by one of those mini yellow corvettes. Craziest thing you ever did see. Her toes were black and blue for weeks. So now, whenever they come rumbling by, I’m always sure to pull my feet up from the curb way up on to the sidewalk in case one of those little guys goes whacko and decides to run over my toes. No way you’re running me down buddy, no way!

But really, think about it… Who sits around and comes up with this kind of stuff? You know what we really need to do to improve the world?! I GOT IT! Ride on little cars and motorcycles in formation to entertain folks… How drunk do you have to be/what are you smoking to come up with this stuff? And my big question is what will anthropologists have to say about it someday? I pondered this question out loud to Brian as the little men in little cars zipped by; however, I carefully watched my tone as the folks next to us snapped as many pictures as possible of the group. I figured they probably knew someone and I didn’t want to hurt their feelings or be attacked by a troop of small cars as we tried to leave.

When I was a jr. higher, my mom had a book entitled The Motel of Mysteries (I have no clue who the author is, but I’ll try to find it at the library tonight). It was a cute read with plenty of pictures told from a future vantage point. Basically, some archaeologists discovered a motel in an excavation and they sought to explain all of the things inside. All I can remember right now is that they thought the toilet seat cover was a headdress for some sort of religious ceremony (i.e. praying to the porcelain god). Anyway, that book has always made me think about what history will remember/discover of our generation. So my question is… what will history think of overweight, middle and later aged men, riding around in miniature vehicles? You tell me. And don’t even get me started on those funny little fez things they wear. What is up with that?