My Third Law of Emotion
I have a date … a date with someone who I have never met, but will determine my future. Not a soothsayer, psychic, or fortune teller, but one whose ruling I have to abide by and accept the consequences.
Now I’m not above seeing a psychic, and the last time I did I was in my twenties after my boyfriend died in a tragic car accident and my dad died after battling an aggressive form of cancer. I was lost during that time, everything was out of control, so a friend suggested I see a tarot card reader. I think she thought this would give me an opportunity to see the good the future could hold.
With some hesitation I made the appointment and did go see her. Someone who knew nothing about me was going to tell me everything I needed to know to make my present more bearable. As a skeptic and natural contrarian, I didn’t reveal all that I was going through, wanting her to prove her abilities, for her to look into her crystal ball and know all about me. Throughout the reading (minus the crystal ball), I could not control my emotions. Every time she mentioned my relationships with men, my dad, dating, etc., I would begin to cry. She was obviously feeding off my uncontrolled responses and went on to make her final evaluation, more about my past than my future. My tears and cards revealed to her that in my past lives I was always the concubine, the one that men looked past, the woman who never reached the status of wife. What my past “mes” had always wanted life after life was to be a wife. None of that made sense to me, I was never the little girl dreaming of the day I would wear a white dress and walk down the aisle. When I finished my first year in college, my roommate’s mom was sincerely concerned that I hadn’t found a future husband like her daughter had.
In the dark room of the psychic’s house, all I could think was that my dad was dead, my boyfriend was dead, and why couldn’t she see that, instead of interpreting my sadness revolving around men as a yearning to be married. When the hour was done, I ran into the sunlight, out of the reading, eyes wet and swollen, forgetting to pay for her time. That seems like a lifetime ago.
In the present, I have held the status beyond concubine for the last 14 years, and this week the title all my past lives wanted, will be dissolved by someone who knows nothing about the present me or my most recent past, but will be tasked with making decisions dictating my future. I may cry at the loss or my inability to control what happens, but I hope I don’t repeat myself in running out of the building in tears without leaving a payment, that may lead to a warrant for my arrest, and one black robe in my future is more than I can take.
Fore!
“Don’t be so impatient with me,” was my response to an eye roll and sigh of disappointment for my delayed click of the mouse. “I taught you how to eat with a spoon!” I continued, snapping back at my nine year-old. Yes, just a glimpse into my superior (a.k.a embarrassing) parenting skills.
It really is amazing how much my son has learned to this point. I have witnessed him being unable to survive without complete parental support to now navigating though various computer screens researching birthday vacations on his own. From putting his shoes on the wrong feet to now wearing suits. In addition to his fashion, computer and travel skills, I am now talking to his teachers about types of literature and multiple levels of place values he will explore this year. This all after a compliment taken in stride on his sharp appearance.
My soon to be tween is entering the fourth grade and my emotions have shifted from first-day-of-school tears to awe. Instead of crying because he is getting bigger, I’m excited because he has gotten so big. He is a little person with so much ahead of him, I can’t wait to see who he becomes. But before that, watch out, he is headed straight for the fourth grade!
Wonder Land
“Every year of life is so cool!” I heard my almost eight year-old say. I looked up from the cutting board and dinner prep I was working on and saw Azul lying on the couch with the computer. This scene has been played out before, with me cooking and him keeping me company, while also in his own world, doing his own thing. There are so many times I just watch him and wonder what’s going on in his head, asking myself, “What is he thinking about?”
Occasionally he gives me a peek inside and I feel like Alice in a land of awe and wonder, instinctively wanting to investigate and discover all that I can. Many times his conversations have to do with a new computer game and sometimes he shares his perceptions of the world around him.
I asked, “What is Every Year of Life?” I though it was a new Sims or Minecraft server.
“You know, like, living. It’s so cool!”
I started my journey down the rabbit hole as he continued.
“Every year I get bigger and I get to do more things and things change. Like, I was in preschool and at a different school and now I’m not there. And now at Prep I’m not in the Tiny Tots anymore, I’m with the big kids. It’s just so cool. I get to do new things.”
I stood there grinning like a Cheshire cat. After all Azul is right, every year of life is cool. Sometimes we just need to be awakened by the philosophical mind of a child.
Carmelina Hart 