Muhammad Ali (at war with my niece).
One
It is not a child’s job to take responsibility for anyone else’s emotions. Including, and maybe especially, adults.
In other words, children do not exist in order to make us feel better, or feel good.
My mom talked about this a while back - not in reference to her and her children specifically - but in reference to the general idea that kids shouldn’t be hit with guilt trips by adults for not “…making them happy.”
I’ve thought about that a lot since, and it’s been enormously beneficial to me in trying to not connect the emotions of a child to my own emotions. In other words, to not say and do things like :
“So you don’t want me to read with you? You want your Mom to? Oh, do you like your Mom more? That makes me feel bad.”
That kind of thing. I hate that. Hate it.
Childhood can be challenging enough to navigate, even before and without the responsibility an adult has just hurled on a child, inferring or implying or even stating directly that the adult’s emotions are the consequences of a child’s emotions, and therefore the child’s responsibility.
I am a parent, and therefore by definition, I am also a hypocrite and fail at what I just said. Repeatedly. In other words :
our kids get irritable, and in my worst times, which are not infrequent, that irritability makes me more impatient and…irritable.
Perpetuating a cycle.
But if parenting is about balancing hypocrisy with consistent modeling, it’s also about trying. Consistently trying to not place your own emotions atop those of a child.
Two
That being said, I got to see one of my nieces this week.
It made me very happy.
She made me very happy.
Three
She’s eleven.
Four
I could tell early on she was going to be amazing - as a side note, I am probably the greatest person in the world at telling early on when people are going to be amazing - but anyway, I have known her her entire life, and have been exceptionally fond of her for much of that length, despite the reality that our lives intersect much less than they once did.
When I walked up to see her earlier this week, after not seeing her for a while, she was hanging and conversing with other kids. I wasn’t completely planning on bursting in to interrupt, though I hadn’t decided completely. Before I could decide completely, she looked up and saw me.
A scowl creeped over her face, her whole entire dirty angel face.
Her eyes narrowed, her arms came up.
Into fists.
Fists.
She started marching toward me, face contorted into an horrific version of humanity; a transformation that can only be described as terrifying, and this horrific aggression was directed at me.
I tentatively stepped forward until her death march landed her directly in front…
…of me.
I leaned forward. Her arms shot up, filthy thumbs wrapped around dual four-fingered digits of dirt.
Hello.
I said, in the dignified manner of which I am accustomed to speaking.
Hello.
She said back gravely.
I was going to hug you.
I said.
Oh.
She said with thin grin.
I thought you were going to hit me.
She then lunged forward to hug me. Aggressively. Then she punched me. Aggressively. Then she laughed confidently, and her face was still dirty. From dirt. Dirt that she had intentionally rubbed all over, and despite the dirt, no matter the dirt, there was not enough dirt to disguise the fierce beautiful glare oozing out from the messy mass of soil.
Five
I’ve missed you more.
she announced with no other introduction.
No.
I said calmly, but firmly, and accurately.
I’ve missed you more.
I will not go into the length of time this interchange took, as we argued, as warriors argue, and fought, as fighters fought, and sparred, as sparrers spar, but I shall tell you that the length of time this interchange lasted was not inconsequential, and had little variance.
I do not know if there is a point at which she will grow weary, or self-conscious of arguing with me in this manner, and I try to be attuned to this potential happening and thus save face for us both, but in an historic manner more linear than quantum, she has defied and rejected the bleak outlook I hope does not dawn, yet am resigned to to dawning at some point.
But that time has not dawned,
and it has brought me joy to argue and fight, to fight and banter and spar.
Six
I forgot to tell you,
I said.
I was on the radio last night, and I guess they were talking about me.
What were they saying?
she asked through the dirt.
Well,
I said.
Again, this isn’t me saying this, it’s simply what they were saying about me. Apparently they were talking about how I am the world’s greatest person at bouncing basketballs off my knee.
Oh really?
she said suspiciously.
So that was on the radio?
Yeah, apparently so,
I said.
Well,
she continued matter-of-fact,
did you watch the news last night? On television?
No.
I said.
I stick to the reliable news.
Well,
she said, ignoring my loaded comment,
apparently they were talking about me on the news last night - on the television news - and they were talking about how I am the best in the universe at bouncing basketballs off my knee, and how you might be the second best, but about how you’re probably actually the worst.
Well,
I responded calmly and condescendingly.
That’s umm, neat. Really cute.
Well.
she said.
I guess that’s just what they’re saying, and I guess it’s true.
Not true.
I said truly.
True.
she said not-truly.
Well,
I continued.
Not true, and apparently, there’s a bunch of stuff going around the Internet - on the truthful part of the Internet - about how everyone is saying that I am probably the greatest in the multiverse at bouncing basketballs off my knee. Of course the multiverse is way bigger than one tiny little universe, according to what everyone says.
Maddeningly, she continued.
Did I say universe?
she said calmly through dirt-stained teeth.
I meant to say that apparently people are saying I’m the best in the Infinity Googolplex Verse.
No such thing:
I responded immediately and truthfully.
Oh yes there is,
she responded maddeningly in sing-song fashion; a stylistic howitzer shell she frequently loads into her verbal assaults that is challenging to defend against.
That’s what everyone says anyway. Oh, do you not know about the Infinity Googolplex Verse?
She shakes her head and sends dirt flying everywhere, and my adrenaline rises, and I remind myself of My Life’s Number One Mantra:
Do not, under any circumstances, ever lose anything to a child.
She continues:
Also, I’m very good at knowing things about things when people say there’s no such thing. I’m probably the world’s best at knowing such things.
Seven
Our encounters and run-ins were brutal and covered great ground, and involved such subjects as Who Is Better At…
…dropping dirt on their legs.
…reclining in hammocks.
…eating popsicles after 5pm on a weekday in April.
My argument has been consistent: it’s not me saying I’m super good at these things. It’s simply what everyone says about me.
She makes pretty much the same argument, only escalated by Plus-One every time.
It’s what they call An Impasse, and it’s really awful because it brings me face to face with my second Most Important Rule of All Time:
Do not, under any circumstances, ever,
end up in an Impasse with a child. Otherwise known as “A Tie.”
Eight
Maddening though this human is, I acknowledge, quietly and secretly, that there is a certain joy I feel emanating from her longhaired, loud-giggly, earthworm-filled presence.
It feels good to have someone excited to see you. To banter and tease and laugh.
And insult.
Nine
I was sitting there making mud cakes with her - yeah, she still does that, to accompany an intellect and wit off the charts, and - I really, really hate to admit this - she had made a really good-looking one.
An incredible mud cake. Not pie. Mud cake. The size, the proportions, the consistency, the way that various varieties of spring flowers were delicately sprinkled atop the delicious mud…it looked amazing. I begrudgingly told her so, and then we launched into competition over who was better at making them once I had gotten some practice in.
We baked semi-silently for a few minutes, and then she scrunched up her filthy little pretty face and said quietly:
“You know, sometimes I actually enjoy being around you, and I guess I’m glad you’re not leaving right now. In fact, I’d have to say that probably around 2% of the time you might be a pretty decent uncle. Maybe 3%.
I don’t know how the rest of the world would take this compliment, but I will tell you right now that this quiet little compliment is one I will carry with me to my grave, whenever and wherever that might be.
Ten
As if reading my thoughts, she sprang in, louder:
You have to be careful about compliments.
she said.
Around 462 million people die every year from too many compliments.
Really?
I said.
Really.
she said, nodding wisely.
That’s what they say. I’m very good at knowing these statistics. Probably the best.
Eleven
I said goodbye and pulled her closer:
I always miss you, every day, when I don’t see you.
I said.
She smiled, and stepped back, nodding knowingly.
Well,
she said.
I miss you more.
And with that, she flounced off into the future, and I will see her soon, or sometime,
and it is not her job, or anyone’s job, or responsibility, to bring me happiness or joy or to bear any responsibility for my emotions or feelings…
…but on this week, I fought with an 11-year old who brought those things. With a giggle, a smile, a punch, and a face filled with dirt and life.
And I miss her.
I miss her the most.
The End.
(I win).
——
