A Child's Enthusiasm

Claire punctuates the silence of the parking lot with a repeated, “Yay…Yay…Yay…”

I think, “I could’ve easily done the walk to the car without the yelling. Too early for this..."

But I tolerate the noise. Noise is a part of a toddler’s job, just as patience is part of a mom's. I watch, as she experiments with her voice bouncing off the concrete jungle that surrounds us.

Several car lengths ahead, a man in a tie puts on his jacket and grabs his briefcase from his trunk. I imagine he's a warrior suiting up for corporate battle, like a modern-day knight.

He closes the trunk, turns to us and says, “Someone’s happy today!”

“Ha,” I laugh. Sometimes, I think I need a little more coffee to be as happy as my daughter.”

He laughs too, “It’s hard to stay that enthusiastic, isn’t it?

“Yes,” I reply. “There’s something to be said for acting like a kid more often.”

He's ahead of us, walking towards the exit. He adds over his shoulder...

“Never lose the ‘Yay’."

“Huh!” I say. “Never lose the ‘Yay'...I’m gonna remember that one…”

“Me too!” he says, pausing a beat before he heads out the door.

Hand in hand through the parking lot, I join in with Claire, “Yay…Yay…Yay…”


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Photo Source: Happy_Serenity, Flickr

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Growing Up

On New Year's Eve last year, Claire had yet to say her first word or take a step. She hadn't felt ice-cream melt sweetly in her mouth, nor had she crunched a slice of shiny red apple. She hadn't returned a hug or a kiss. She'd yet to make a joke that had us laughing together. 

She enters 2013 able to do all of these things and more. The new year holds such possibilities for her as well.

Just as 2013 contains potential for all of us. I wish everyone a year of growth like a child. I wish you the capacity to embrace change in 2013, to make new discoveries, and to lust for life in the way of a child -- curious, courageous and eyes wide open.

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Guns: Getting Past the Fantasy

I've started thinking about how I'd like to talk to Claire about guns. The issue is a difficult but important one to confront -- up there with don't talk to strangers, where do babies come from and, down the road, don't have unprotected sex.

My parents weren't much for communication, and were silent on all of the aforementioned big topics. But guns were an every day event during hunting season. 

I remember admiring the colorful orange and shiny gold shotgun shells. I remember dead ducks being stripped of their feathers in paraffin. And the deer, how could I forget the deer with limp bodies, glazed eyes and tongues hanging out of their mouth. The gaping hole in their blood spattered sides. 

Guns killed, that's for sure. No denying this gory reality. 

Hunting mostly disabused me of any fantastic notion I might have had about guns. But, when I was about four, I begged for the best black and white cowhide Annie Oakley outfit. I was so proud of that getup, complete with red cowgirl hat. The shiny silver pistol with holster was basically an accessory to me. But, in case I had any doubt about its function, every time I picked up it up, I was told to NEVER, EVER point a gun -- real or fake -- at another human being. 

My brother begged for a BB gun at around age seven. That conversation was short…BB guns in the hands of small children do nothing but damage, either to humans, small animals or objects such as windows. End of story.

Because I was around guns and instructed about them, I learned just how seriously they were to be taken. I learned that guns had their place for some, and that there was zero negotiation about their use.

It's a different world for Claire growing up than it was for me. We live in Manhattan: no deer here (even if we did want to hunt). The stakes have risen so that assault weapons are a gruesome reality sitting alongside shotguns. My Annie Oakley fancy is being replaced by the fantasy of violent video games and movies. It's such a complicated mix of issues that even our sharpest pundits are struggling with the scope of influences contributing to senseless gun violence.

But I know that I want Claire to learn some of the lessons that my family taught me about guns. I want her to know that human beings are responsible for how they are used, and that this responsibility is not to be taken lightly. I want her to know that, while you can take back words and some actions, the damage that guns cause is swift, dangerous and, too often, irreparable.

I haven't figured out how the conversation should go after that. I would love to open up this discussion amongst mothers. In light of the recent tragedy in Newtown, I think it's important one to have. It's a dialogue in which moms can and should be taking the lead, for all of our children. 

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