Don't Break The--
"Okay," I say. "More practice talking!"
The baby watches me from the swing, intent, leaning forward.
"Baby," I say. "Mommy. Daddy. Doggie!"
She grins. I grin back. "Again?" A giggle. "Baby-Mommy-Daddy-Doggie!" And then I say, "Let's sing that, okay?" So I sing it to her while she listens, eager. And then, when I get to the end, I go backwards. Doggie, Daddy, Mommy, Baby.
"Why don't we do the family?" I tell her, and she waves her arms. I sing again, spiralling outward in order of how often she sees them. "Baby, Mommy, Daddy, Doggie, Grandma, Mota, Papo, Papi!" And then backwards again, ravelling the family back to the heart. Twice more I do this.
Then I say, "How about the extended family?" And then I begin again. Her immediate family, her grandparents, her aunts, her uncles, her cousins. And then backwards again.
I realize: I am not the last person in the chain anymore. As I sing the generations, I see all the people who came before her, some already gone to dust; I wonder at all the people who will come after her. And I pray, I pray there will be more so she can sit in front of them and string the men and women on the chain like pearls, one after another, so she can see herself in context, one more generation between the past and tomorrow...
...just like me...
I am crying as I sing and I don't remember when I started.
"Doggie. Daddy." I pick her up. "Mommy." She laughs and touches my salt-wet mouth. "Baby."
Stardancer Home.
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haikujaguar) wrote,
