She doesn’t walk, she sort of half marches, with raised knees and swinging arms, shoulders back and head raised in what almost looks like a little dance. I would recognize her gait in a crowd, I could pick her out among hundreds by the subtle sway of her elbow and the dna of her walk-waltz imprinted on my heart.
She skips just slightly ahead in a tutu and polka dot rainboots as I watch her rhythm and her charisma.
“Oh! You gettin dat bwoccowi? What you gonna make wif dat? Are you gonna make a Veggie Tale? I wike bwoccowi. Yeah. But my mommy not make me any bwoccowi today.” she says rapid fire to the stranger leaning over the produce section.
I say her name but she’s already charmed this kind lady into letting her place the broccoli in her basket and then she spins on her heel to march off. “My name is ScarwutBonWastname! Hab a good day!” she calls over her shoulder, sliding her tiny hand into mine.
Her father and I lean against the wooden slats of the fence and watch her weave in and out of the crowds of children on the playground. It is busier here today with the first warm weather of a long, bitterly cold winter and we strain to keep her in sight, her slight form disappearing amid a tangle of legs running. She is not the youngest one but she is the smallest and she sure doesn’t know it.
“Excuse me,” she says to the junior high girls who have stopped to chat on the bridge and block her way to the slide, “I need go to dat swide. How about you come swide wif me? My name SacrwutBonWastname. I goin on dis swide. Are you moving pwease?Oh! You are bery beautiful!”
She grabs the hand of the little boy she has been playing with and pulls him along as they step aside.
I want her to always keep this sort of confidence in a crowd and it is the hardest part of parenting her, trying to instill discipline and manners and life lessons about things like respectfulness without trodding on her personality. I want to step back and lead with ageless wisdom so that I enhance but don’t extinguish the spark with which she was fearfully and wonderfully made. It is a delicate balance, the raising of this child, and one that is not lacking for prayers of guidance and rest but as I catch sight of her wild excited eyes as she climbs up the rock wall fearless I am so grateful for the chance.
– This post is part of the Five Minute Friday link-up via Lisa-Jo Baker, a writing challenge where a group of lovely ladies each write on the same word for five minutes (okay, seven. I cheated.) You can join us here!
