He ran to me and shoved something in my neatly pleated pockets. Outwardly unperturbed, I slid my hand in immediately to see what it was. Trust him? I did not. A flower petal. I asked him loudly over the cacophony of kids’ voices what I’m supposed to do with it. My 5 year old pulled back the pirates patch on his head and said it was his treasure and we were to take it home.
I’m annoyed. Being annoyed is my base state, my ground level. Because I am a grown up. I’m an adult. I’ve forgotten how to play (and play along). I think of the stains it will leave in my pocket, because I’ll forget to take it out in time. I worry about the rot when I will leave it on the table, the counter. I worry at the notion of stones and twigs cluttering the car floor and our porch…this is obviously not the first time.
Not too long ago, I used to let my dog bring in sticks and chew on them and then gag and throw them up all over the porch and carpet of my then living room. I’d gently roll my eyes, clean it up and let him do it all over again. I am two different mothers to my two sons- canine and human.
I used to carry back things from my own adventures too. I guess I still sneak in the rare smooth pebble or tiny shell. I still let my own childhood shine occasionally. But there is no room for my son to stop and treasure improper rotting petals. I guess my kid will be a proper pirate, who values the correct treasures.
Is this too public a forum to call shame on myself? I am the mother, I never wanted to be, a person, with my back to a wall of excuses.
I was a kid once. Full-fledged. Wholehearted. I don’t really remember living the story, but I heard I packed a bag of rocks (fist-sized and larger) from a vacation one time, because I thought they were pretty; I obviously couldn’t carry them because it was… a bag of rocks and I was single digits old. So my mother brought them home for me. Now I complain at a petal in my pocket . And about sand and stones and sticks and play and childhood. Because I’ve grown up and grown old. I forgot how to smell the flowers. And I have forgotten my real treasure.
Photo Credit Jeff Stroud
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