I have heard physical therapy called pain and torture.  I actually look forward to it.  Ever since breaking my shoulder I have not been able to lift my arm.  I try not to complain but it also really hurts.  Twice a week I come in and lay down while they loosen my muscles up with heat.  Then my therapist manipulates my arm to get my range of motion back millimeter by millimeter.  It used to be excruciating; now it’s a good sort of hurt.  Since my bone has healed she is really able to get in, press it, and stretch it.  It seems as if we all take things for granted until we lose them.  Dutch priest Henri Nouwen once said:

“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.”

That is precisely what my therapist has done for me in PT.

My husband left for work with a redhead and a brunette.  And my little girl is the one who helped him do it.  Burk had blisters on his thumbs and our little one LIVES to bring out the Band-Aids.  She was all out of Scooby Doo, Daddy’s first choice, so she bestowed her beloved Princesses upon him.  One of the things I have always loved about my husband is he truly does not care what other people think.  He went off completely fine with the fact that he was wearing Ariel from “The Little Mermaid” and Jasmine from “Aladdin” on his hands.  When he came home his little nurse eagerly inspected his bandages and was thrilled to see they were still firmly in place.  My husband and I, like any couple, have had our share of ups and downs.  I would think that is to be expected.  But we have always been transparent with each other, and for that I am truly grateful.  Dallas senior pastor T.D. Jakes said:

“My mother would take the Band-Aid off, clean the wound, and say, “Things that are covered don’t heal well.”  Mother was right.  Things that are covered do not heal well.”

With a satisfied nod our little one pronounced he could sleep in them.  I told her she had done a great job but now it was time to take the Band-Aids off.  When she asked why I explained things that are covered do not heal well.  And besides, the only one who will be sleeping with my husband is a blonde … and that’s me.  It was time to take the Band-Aids off.

I regret not asking my mother more questions about our family.  Now she is gone and I won’t have answers when the time comes that my little girl asks.  This picture haunts me:  it is of my maternal great-grandmother whose name was Janie Ard.  I heard Mama say she was the prettiest woman in the (Texas) county.  As I understand she died in childbirth, so my grandmother never really had a mother.  That carried down to me as I think my own mama did not always know what to do as a mother.  I feel there is a strong family resemblance and I also feel a sort of pulling call from her but I do not know what to do about it.  I believe in heritage, genetics, and in traits passed down from one generation to the next.  I only wish I had gotten more information (if she even knew it) before Mama passed.  As it is all I am left with is a shockingly similar visual reminder of where I came from.  I think she was strong; I am compelled to look at her and often wonder what she is trying to convey.  But at least I know she is my kin and that I carry her DNA in my blood; my little one does as well.  If you are reading this and you have blood parents still living — and even grandparents — I urge you to find out everything you possibly can about your familial history while you are able.  The Irish writer George Bernard Shaw said:

“We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future.

However I believe it matters and it also affects us … from the recollection of our past to the responsibility for our future.

One of the fond memories I have as a kid was of a guy at the roller skating rink wearing a giant balloon hat making balloon animals.  Mostly he just made wiener dogs or poodles, but I was still excited to have one nonetheless.  Recently we went to the movies and before the show our little one saw a man making balloon animals (much more sophisticated than when I was little).  Her eyes lit as she happened upon a unicorn and her father shelled out an exorbitant $7 for her to have it.  She loved her; I saw how much joy she brought her, how tenderly she held her, and how she named her with great care.  I suppose I took balloon animals for granted, since I always got them so easily.  I realized with some surprise my little one had never really had a balloon animal before.  It’s a bit of a childhood microcosm for the adulthood macrocosm of when people who have a child so easily are blithely unaware of the struggle others go through in trying to have a baby.  English actress Thandie Newton said:

“Then I became a mother and it just fills every space, that isn’t filled with something else important.  It’s just like this incredible balloon that blows up and fills life up.”

And so from child to mother, I know the happiness a balloon animal can bring.  More importantly, from child to mother I know how special and rare it is to have a baby at 41; how every space in my life has filled up like an incredible balloon.  It is indescribable … sort of like happening upon a unicorn.

I snapped this picture of my little one playing in all her authentic glory but with one exception:  I had her throw on shorts.  The kid is EXACTLY like me and starts stripping before the front door has even closed.  Neither of us like to be hot or uncomfortable.  In my case the offender is my bra; in hers, it’s pants.  So many conversations have been prefaced with, “Go put on some pants.”  “Why?”  “Because people are coming over.”  And while she is rummaging for something to cover her bottom with besides Hello Kitty I’m busy searching for the last place I flung my dreaded bra.  I apologize for mentioning the unmentionable but it’s just the truth.  While she was twirling around today with her tiara and cape I told her about Wonder Woman and how she fought the bad guys twirling into a tiara and cape and always won.  My little one was so interested I decided to look up some old clips for her.  As we played super heroes I found myself lamenting the lack of female ones.  I liked “Electra Woman and Dyna Girl” when I was a kid.  Other than those three nothing readily comes to mind.  I loved the Bionic Woman but I think of her more along the lines of “Charlie’s Angels”.  My favorite American movie actress Geena Davis, who also made my favorite movie of all time, “The Long Kiss Goodnight”, founded the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media in 2004 to change media and to empower women and girls.  According to her website, www.seejane.org, her institute is the only research-based organization working within the media and entertainment industry to engage, educate, and influence the need to dramatically improve gender balance, reduce gender stereotypes, and create diverse female characters in entertainment targeting children 11 and under.  It also says her institute has amassed the largest body of research on gender prevalence in entertainment, spanning more than two decades.  As a little girl my Daddy reared me no differently than a boy.  He taught me to change a flat tire, how to work on a home, and said I could be anything I chose.  It would have been nice to see more strong women on TV and in movies.  I am glad my daughter is getting that chance.  As Geena Davis’ slogan says, “If she can see it, she can be it.”

My little one was so timid when she first started taking karate classes she would not even tag anyone for a game of duck duck goose.  Granted, she was only three but she pretty much just took everything in and sucked her little thumb.  By the end of class they’d gently coaxed it out of her mouth and at least she ran around the circle.  In her defense, I have seen many boys older and bigger than she is bawl for their mothers; so this proud mama thinks she was tough!  More than a year and a half later my karate kid girl was the only one in class that day who had done her jobs list.  Students have a number of things they must complete each week to demonstrate they are forming good habits and showing respect both at home and in the studio.  Mine knows I will not give her a free pass — if she doesn’t do the work, she doesn’t get her list filled out to be turned in.  There is also a blue sheet they must take the initiative on in order to compete for their next belt, earning them a blue stripe.  It is not enough to know the kicks, strikes, blocks, and combinations.  In fact, each belt test requires the completion of two blue stripes showing they have performed chores on their own, helped without asking, etc.  As my little girl was standing, her instructor acknowledged her efforts and she was given the honor of choosing the game they got to play at the end.  She chose my favorite — tiger’s tail.  An instructor will get “noodles” and hold them out like long claws while a white “tail” dangles from the back of their black uniform.  The students must outwit the tiger and take his tail without getting caught.  To my utter shock, on this day my little one charged and snuck up behind the “tiger” while he was distracted … triumphantly catching his tail!  She was told to put both hands in the air and say, “I WIN!” and I do not know which of us was more proud.  American Professor of Law at Yale Amy Chua has been quoted as saying:

“I think if you’re a ‘tiger parent’ early on, you don’t need to be a ‘helicopter parent’ in high school.”

I may be a tiger mom at present, but I do not intend to be a helicopter mother later.  Right now I’m just trying to catch the tiger’s tail!

A Friday evening date night is a rarity indeed.  Sometimes we choose for it to be a family night and sometimes one or both of us still has to work.  Or sometimes we may both just be exhausted.  But on this night the stars aligned, the sitter was booked, and we were on our way to see the new Bourne movie.  From start to finish it was a great escape that was clever and not simply mindless violence (of which I am not a fan).  Then we held hands as we strolled through the park to go to one of my favorite restaurants.  Everything was in the mall so it was one stop shopping, no pun intended.  The beautiful park used to be a parking lot and, for an August summer night in Texas, it wasn’t too hot.  At Seasons 52 we got our favorite server and the vegetarian in me delighted in the fresh, seasonal dishes they were offering.  This isn’t the most exciting picture but it captured a happy memory for me.  The corn soup was delicious and I also ordered a black truffle mushroom risotto.  Accompanying dinner was my wine selection from St. Francis vineyards.  I looked at Burk in a way I haven’t in years … with older eyes that were also new.  He looked so handsome and smelled so good.  We talked like we used to about everything from history and politics, to travel and the movie we had just seen.  American actress Alexandra Daddario said:

“I love to travel, and I think being whisked away somewhere for a vacation is a pretty amazing date.  But, I’m really into the basic movie and dinner.  It’s not where you are but who you’re with that really matters.”

I believe this is so true; who you’re with is everything.  The restaurant was quiet and we were relaxed knowing our little one was having fun at home playing with her beloved sitter.  Invariably, since we have become parents, our conversation always comes back to our little one.  It was time to get home.  We missed her and wondered what she was doing.  And that was OK.  In fact, it made it a great date.

When I was born I am told I had red hair just like my mother, who also had red hair.  She was ecstatic and said she was not even concerned with my fingers and toes or anything else — it was good enough for her that I had red hair.  Days later it all fell completely out and I remained bald for several years.  Around two and a half there is a horrid picture of me with about three sprigs of hair each sticking straight out from behind both of my ears, lending me a somewhat Dr. Spockish appearance.  Daddy used to say Mama would get so angry because she would always put me in frilly dresses and frilly socks and people would say I was a cute little boy.  When my hair did grow in it was a sort of blonde red.  My little one was born with the lightest dusting of red blonde hair so striking contrasted against her long, jet black lashes (from my half Choctaw father).  She pretty much stayed bald for her first two years and, like me, people would say she “sure was a pretty little fella”.  I never took offense because I detested bows on babies with no hair and I still cannot stand giant bow-headed little girls.  It’s like they’re all bow and nothing else.  Anyway, when my Baby Doll’s hair did grow in it started to curl; that’s courtesy of her daddy’s fabulous hair.  Immediately every one everywhere we went began calling her Shirley Temple.  She is precocious and I do think she looks an awful lot like her.  Last Halloween it was a no-brainer:  I put her in a short sailor dress, gave her a giant lollipop, and there wasn’t one person who needed help knowing who she was.  It transcended race, gender, age, and ethnicity.  I was surprised because I didn’t think anyone really remembered Shirley Temple anymore; she was Hollywood’s number one box-office star from 1935 to 1938.  Although I was thrilled they did because I loved Shirley Temple as a child actor and admired her work in adulthood as a United States Ambassador.  In 1935, the movie musical “Curly Top” debuted.  The lead song is exactly how my naturally curly headed little one makes me feel:

“Curly Top”

Whenever clouds start gathering
To cover up the sun
It really doesn’t mean a thing to me
It seems a tiny miracle
Comes to me on a run
And never fails to bring a remedy
She’s just a little curly headed thing
Who creeps into my heart and makes it sing
Curly top
You little bundle of joy
Curly Top
You’re like a wonderful toy
You’re just so full of sunshine
Folks agree
You could supply the world
With Vitamin D
Two eyes that make
The heavens proud to be blue
Angel cake
It’s just a copy of you
Take ev’rything that’s sweet
All rolled into one
That can’t top you
Curly Top

Just like during the Great Depression, we need a little more happiness and innocence in this world.  She is mine; my little Curly Top.