I think back to the little girl who loved to play with the little kids. At every function, she would rush towards the child with hands and feet and faces smaller and chubbier than her own. Her heart would swell with joy as she sat with them and watched their silly waddles and mannerisms. She would hand them toys, pick them up, squeeze their cheeks softly. She would make faces, play peek-a-boo, say funny words until she heard laughter bubble out of them.
The child’s parents would be talking with the little girl’s parents. Some of the older kids would come play with her and the child, but they would usually get bored. She never got bored. She stayed their for hours, marveling at how such a cute human could exist.
It would often be random. And it usually was not her fault. She maybe took a toy away that she should not have. Or her peek-a-boo scared them. Perhaps she picked them up when they didn’t want it. The reason rarely made sense. But the screaming wails took all their cuteness away. Her happiness melted in place of fear.
She ran away before the parents would blame her. It was obviously her mistake. But she did not know why. The parents never said anything, but she knew they were thinking it. They rushed to calm the child’s cries, bouncing it up and down, patting and shushing it. The parents would all share knowing smiles and laughs. None of them saw the deep fear inside her, the penetrating guilt that she wronged, that she did not take care of the child correctly.
I think back to that little girl as I hold this little girl in my arms. Her first cries were necessary for her first breath of life. Her cries do not always make sense, communicating something in a language I do not always understand. Her cries are most easily comforted by my hugs, my sways, my voice.
I think back to that little girl when my niece plays with my little girl. She leads her in a dance. She lifts her, twirls her, tosses her up and catches her again. On the last catch, my little girl’s head bumps lightly against my niece’s chin. Crying erupts. My niece’s face is stricken with fear and apologies flow out of her. I smile knowingly as she hands my little girl to me.