A Pen Portrait of my Daughter
She slowly planted one small foot before moving the other, occasionally stopping to make sure she was being watched. Her face swelled with pride when she caught an encouraging look from her mother. She flashed a grin as if to say, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”
She took another step and then another, inching her way up the small wooden slide, from bottom to top. Each time her foot, still dirty from “helping” in the garden, hits the plank, her wild hair bounced like a walking spring toy. Her help in the garden wasn’t much help, but what’s more satisfying than plucking and eating cherry tomatoes off the vine, ripe or not?
She was more confident than she should have been, something her father surely admired. Between every other or third step came a wobble, her instincts prompting her to throw her arms out to her side like a tightrope walker to steady herself. Undeterred, she flashed a smirk, not quite showing her teeth, and continued her trek to the summit.
She paused when she reached the peak. Perhaps she was admiring her accomplishment, or maybe she was deciding what to do next. She stood tall at the zenith of her natural coated climbing apparatus, not a care in the world other than what she’d prefer for lunch, blueberries, or salmon roe.
Her shirt was colorful, but not from the printing press. These colors were of her own creation, splashes of primary colors from her time at art class earlier that morning. Her pants managed to avoid becoming a canvas, but you could find a couple of splotches of red and blue ink on her face if you looked hard enough.
The plank was narrow and absent of protective edges, making her task all the more difficult and dangerous, although she was little more than a foot off the ground. Her shoulders initiated the 180-degree rotation, followed by her hips. She hesitated before turning her feet. They were already close to the edge, and a minor misstep could cause a tumble.
She was so focused on her feet that her already squinty eyes were hardly visible, just peaking from their lids. She only looked up after she’d completed her spin, finally facing the opposite direction.
There was only one thing left to do.
Like a musician waiting for the introductory applause to fade out, she paused, gathering herself for the finale. With much less caution than before, she plopped onto her rear and slid down the thin board with reckless abandon, squawking “weeeeeee” as she descended.
That was her 12th trip up and down that morning, but her enthusiasm didn’t wane. With each repetition, her confidence grew; that much was clear from the illumination of her face.
Her mind acquired new inputs for future risk/reward calculations. Her body became more synchronized, gaining new abilities to coordinate complex movements. She learned about how to deal with failure and success.
Natalie at play is a mind and body at work — a true joy to observe.
