In Good Spirits

When I was a young girl I was full of spirit. If somebody asked me, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I was the kind of kid that answered immediately, with no hesitation, as loudly and clearly as I could, "A LION!" And, if that somebody tried to tell me why I couldn’t actually be a lion, I would have tried to reason with them by stating "Well,  I'll just move to the jungle and never comb my hair." Or “In the Jungle Book Mowgli was a bear cub.”

The truth is, the fact that I was and am incapable of transforming into a different species would have never occurred to me. I could have never answered that question realistically, because that would have taken too much time, too much thinking. I was always in a hurry and wasn't the least bit concerned about logistics. I wasn't worried about anything. I was just being me. To sum it up in one sentence, I was an intense, sensitive, persistent, energetic kid who had a lot of life to live.

This scenario never actually happened, at least not that I can recall, but plenty of similar situations did. On numerous occasions I was told that I was too loud, too sensitive, and had too much energy. So many times I heard my mother tell me, "We should have named you Mary!" as in "Mary, Mary Quite Contrary." And then there was the moment when I found out who Helen Keller actually was and why I was referred to her at times. (That may have been the biggest Helen Keller Tantrum yet!)

On good days, I was known as the child who had a “twinkle” in her eyes, but unfortunately, there were far more rough days and that twinkle got lost into a galaxy of millions other twinkling stars.

Another memory that I hold on to as an adult, happened when I was about six or seven years old. I had encountered yet another bike wreck and despite my barely bleeding battle wound, I was a blubbering, air gasping, tearful mess. My mother did her best to calm me down only to find out that I was crying so uncontrollably because I was afraid I was "losing all my Native American blood."

This was a conversation carried over from a previous week when I had learned some first grade version of genetics and had inquired if I had inherited any Native American blood from my ancestors.

I was told that if I did, it would only be a very small amount. To further my understanding of "how much" Native American blood was running through my veins--a very important detail in order to accurately inform my peers-- my mother and I talked about "size." My first grade self was happy to know she was made up of enough Native American blood that it would compare to the size of a penny.

So when I had scraped my knee and there was blood escaping that was obviously more than the size of an Abraham Lincoln coin, I was concerned. And I showed my concern in the best way I knew how, through an intense, emotional cry. I was sensitive.

In later years, I decided to write about this incident for a Jr. High English assignment. I put use to my knowledge of similes by writing, "Tears were erupting like a broken fire hydrant" only to hear my teacher tell me that this sentence was too unrealistic. I was marked down a few points and my pride was hurt.

In retrospect, it's clear that my English teacher didn't know me as a child. Not to mention that if my sentence was too unrealistic it would make a great hyperbole, but that's an entirely different issue. My point is,  I was a "tough" kid. Not the kind of "tough" that bullied kids on the playground, but the kind of "tough" it is to raise a kid and feel good about who they are going to be as an adult.

I applaud my parents, as well as my grandparents, and all the other people in my life that took part in raising me. I know I couldn’t have possibly been an “easy” sibling to get a long with. I know I was stubborn, wild, noisy, and disruptive -to name a few. I know I saw the world in a completely different way than everyone else (contrary?) but truth be told my spirit still runs through me. I wasn’t just a spirited kid. I am a spirited adult.

In the adult world, I am seen as energetic, zestful, tenderhearted, and enthusiastic. And I strongly believe that it is my adult spirit that draws me to spirited children. (It’s probably also what drew me to my husband-he has that twinkle too!) These spirited children, are my favorite kind of kids! They take patience, love, patience, and more patience. They are tough. They remind me to "just keep breathing" but they are "oh-so" full of life, and "oh-so" brilliant! 

Hopefully, just hopefully, if I am doing things right, I can let these children know how incredibly wonderful they are. That they withhold power to do great things that many people can’t. 

They are the reason I love being a nanny. 

Me, Age 2. 

Full of spirit with my dress tucked under my armpit to prove it. 

Tyler Age 2.

Full of spirit with a chocolate covered face to prove it. 

Ian & Mira. Age 2

Full of spirit with twinkling eyes and colorful hats to prove it. 

Brayden and Deagan. Age 22 months.

Full of spirit with sunglasses and panda covered jackets to prove it.