park writing III - mushy but worth reading, i think

Same park, different day. It’s beautiful today, maybe 25°C, and very little Mistral. The fountain makes a bubbling noise as it flows, and children laugh as they run away from their parents. There’s a little girl playing near the fountain, obviously considering jumping in. Her mother catches up with her just in time and dissuades her, holding the back of the little shirt so she stays still. The little girl thinks this new game is even better; she forgets all about the fountain. She leans forward and her mother pulls her back. Back and forth, back and forth. I find myself watching, and before long I notice that I’m tense—if she falls, she’ll bust her nose on the fountain bottom! Every time the mother catches her it’s a barely catch, and my breath gasps on each one. But I also notice that the mother and daughter are both laughing by now, and neither of them look the least bit worried.

This reminds me of my dad. When I was little, he had a game that was one of my favorites—Trapdoor. Every time I dropped through his arms, I would shriek and laugh, but not out of fear. I realize now that I trusted him implicitly, and I knew he wouldn’t drop me. I was right to place my trust in him I think…he never did drop me. Now, give him a sparkler, and you never know…=). It makes me smile, because I always thought I had “trust issues.” But as I think of my dad, I feel—no, I know—that I would still, even today, trust him to hold the back of my shirt. I would, I do, trust him to catch me when the button is pushed and the trapdoors fall open.

The same goes for my mom, Alan, and Rachel. Honestly, I hesitated on that last one. Would I really? I paused on that. Would I really trust a friend, to whom I have no relation, to catch me if I fell? Sure we say we’re best friends, but what does that really mean? Would I trust her with…well, everything? I found that a voice answered me almost immediately. Yes. Absolutely, yes. I trust my instincts, so I question it no further.

The wind on my face diverts my thoughts. Guess I took a short detour there. I look over. The mother and the daughter are gone.

Now a boy and a girl—probably 8 & 10, most likely brother and sister—take their place. Their parents are nowhere to be seen, so they pop off their shoes and stick their feet in the water. I can’t believe my eyes as I’m seeing this—it just seems too picturesque—but they sit there, feet in the fountain, and the little boy grabs his older sister’s hand. She laughs and brings their joined hands to eye level. Seemingly telepathically, they know what they want to do. 1, 2, 3, 4, I declare a thumb war…

This makes me think, of course, of my brother. The number of times he entertained me—on long car rides, when I wasn’t sleepy, or in the later years when I simply couldn’t sleep—astounds me. Bear Olympics (which later became Animal Olympics so as to include some non-bear species), basket-ball with plastic cups hung in the backseat of the car, or just singing with me when I wanted to sing. What impresses me most is not what he did when we were younger—although I must say he was the best big brother I can imagine—but what he does now. In the last few years, especially my first years of high school, those were not particularly good times for me. Alan wasn’t home, and I didn’t really have anybody to talk to. But I knew that I could call him whenever I needed him, and I did. I only had to do it once or twice, but he was always there. He dropped what he was doing to talk to me. He’s a very intuitive person (even more so than me), and he could tell when I needed to talk or when I simply wanted to talk. There’s a big difference, and I think he always picked up on that. He’s incredible. Alan, I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you, but…actually no, I’m not. It’s hard to do, so I’ll take pride in it. =)

*To Emma—you had it right when you called him an amazing person, but I’m not sure the compliment has been reciprocated. Just for the record, I can’t wait to call you sister. He hung onto you, and somehow I think I knew he would. He may be kind of a jackass sometimes, but my brother is not a stupid person. The older we get, the more I get to know the man my brother turned out to be, the more I want to be like him when I grow up.

The boy and the girl are gone now, too. Apparently I’m not being very observant today. Or maybe I’m just being too introspective to see anything outside of myself. Taking stock of your thoughts is more tiring than you’d think.

I miss you all, and I’m excited to see you all in a couple of months—my family, and those of you who aren’t technically family but you may as well be (or those who soon will be!).

I guess my advice for this park-writing session is to take stock sometimes. Of your friends, your family, your emotions. It’s not always easy, but I guarantee you’ll learn something new about yourself.