Today was full of complex conversations. Layered jokes and memories being endlessly woven together by three pre-teen voices. No attempt was made to hold back their hysterical laughter, shouts of glee, purposefully awkward dancing, and every silly facial expression you could possibly imagine (with photo evidence of course!)
I was given the privilege of being fully immersed in the idyllic land of 13
I wore the roles of chauffeur, paparazzi, caterer, pack mule, cheerleader and on rare occasion, counselor. It was a glorious day. 100 degrees outside, but glorious none the less. We window shopped, stuffed our faces, photographed anything that could possibly be beautiful or hilarious, for any obvious or ironic reasons. It was hot, I was tired, the sounds of joy were loud, but today was a gift.
I grew up in a home where all I ever wanted to do was get away. My mother struggled with bipolar and refused therapy or medication, so my home life was an unpredictable rollercoaster, and I tried my best to decline admission to the ride as often as possible. One of my main coping mechanisms was being extremely social. I figured, if I could make enough friends, they would invite me over to their house and I could have a few hours of safety and peace. Thankfully this tactic worked rather well for me, and I got to spend a large majority of my childhood and teen years enjoying and observing the families of my friends.
As a parent, I remember those experiences so vividly. Mostly the other parents just left us to ourselves to play and have fun. But a precious few took the time to get to know me a bit. They asked me questions about my life, congratulated me if I did something well, and even gave me hugs sometimes. They never knew how impactful those gestures were. They never knew, that their kind words, were sometimes the only positive adult interactions I was going to have that week.
Today, I mostly listened. I laughed along with the jokes I could understand, watched the girls tease and cheer each other from one breath to the next, and created a safe space for them to just be themselves.
It only happened twice over the entire 7 hour play day, but a tiny window opened up in the waterfall of thoughts being shared, and I had the opportunity to speak to their hearts, just for a moment. I got to acknowledge and champion the strength I saw in them. I got to call out their greatness and encourage them in what makes them so special. It was only a few sentences. A tiny sliver of the day. But in those moments, the cacophony was silenced, and their eyes sparkled. They drank in something indescribable, but so needed.
We have an incredible opportunity when another child enters our home.
We might be the only friendly adult they see that day, that week, that month. But even if that child comes from a wonderful, life giving home, we still might see something in them, that others have overlooked. We might be able to en-courage (to give courage to) them in a place they really need it.
I'm so thankful for those parents of friends who loved me well. It is my hope to always be a safe place, and a safe parent, for any child I get the honor to meet.