My babies are giving me lessons in confidence. Let me explain.
I love watching my children play at the park. I am continuously amazed at the way Christina
makes friends. You have long hair? I have long
hair! You’re six? I’m 6 ½!
Your knees are skinned? Mine,
too! Let’s be best friends until it’s
time to go! I’ll race you down the
slide, across the monkey bars, to the teeter-totter! And laughter and merriment ensue, interrupted
only to offer me staccato comments on their play, as though I’m not sitting on
the bench watching her enjoy herself. Mom!
My friend over there, he’s really fast and he likes running with me. Christina runs off to chase her new friend. Mom! That girl over there has long hair like me. Christina runs over to said girl, they hold
hands while running to the slides. Mom! I found a girl. She’s in first grade like me. She has a little sister, too, only she’s three
and Hope is four! Christina gives me
big hugs and kisses my cheek, then runs off to join her friend again.
Watching Hope feels more akin to my childhood social
memories. She enjoys playing with her
sister, and plays with whatever other children Christina is playing with, but
breaks away after a while to walk around and explore on her own. Hope swings by herself, finds a pile of rocks
to reorganize, feels the rough bark on a tree, swings a stick around to fend
off some monster. I take the stick away
before she can whack someone. She finds
an older girl with a fistful of lilacs and asks to smell the tiny white
flowers. The girl gives her a group of
them, Hope runs over to me and squeals over the flowers’ delicate beauty. Insists I put them in my bag so she can have
them forever. Hope sees a woman with a toddler;
wanders over to them and engages the mom in conversation. I like
your baby’s dress and her shoes. The
mom smiles and says thank you. I like the look of your baby’s face. The mom laughs. Hope has a unique way of phrasing things
sometimes. Hope tries to play with the
little girl; the little girl grabs fistfuls of sand and – before the other mom
or I can prevent what’s about to happen – dumps it on Hope’s head. The mom apologizes repeatedly, and I brush
the sand away from Hope’s scalp as best I can.
The mom reprimands the toddler, the toddler cries, Hope looks confused –
why did that baby dump sand on me? Why is she crying? The mom tries to get her little girl to
apologize to Hope; the little girl refuses.
Hope tries to hug the little girl; the little girl screams louder. Mom scoops up her child, apologizes to me
again, and says she has to go. Hope
tells her Bye. I like the look of your necklace and runs
off to find Christina again. They play
some more, but Hope’s soon by herself again, walking slowly around, picking
fistfuls of dandelions, singing made up songs.
Hope’s dance is different from Christina’s – Hope engages
with adults, peers, and babies – though for Hope, anyone younger than three
years old is a baby. Christina focuses
on who she considers her peers: six- and seven-year-olds. Christina’s not mean or rude to children who
don’t fit her preferred group, but she’s not excited about them, either. She doesn’t squeal tidbits of information
about the five-year-olds at the park. Hope
rarely interrupts her activities to seek my approval. When she’s done picking flowers or sorting
rocks or slaying imagined monsters, she’ll report to me. She’ll share her adventures, but not
interrupt them; she’s already confident in her
four-and-a-half-year-old independence. Christina's forging confidence; she flits back and forth between her newly-made friends and her mommy. She’s flirting with independence the best way
an almost-seven year old can, I reckon.
Putting her tender little self out
there, sharing little pieces of her heart with her peers and trusting that
they will find some common ground together.
And when – hooray, success! –
common ground is indeed found, she runs back to me for confirmation, to hear that’s wonderful and I’m happy for you or I’m glad you’re having so much fun.
And it is wonderful and I am truly so happy for her, that
she feels confident enough in herself to do those things that I struggle with
today, have struggled with my entire life: giving another person an honest look
at who I am, what I value, where my life experiences have taken me.