(35) Bringing up Maddy

The sky is a canvas of the deepest blue as the rays of the majestic sun from its zenith dances across the hood of the car and splashes across my arms. As I coast further down the quiet street it hides from me, finding refuge in the tree tops and only allowing patches of light to poke through the green leaves to tease me. When I finally pull into the long and windy entrance, the sun is no longer concealed in the foliage but bears down on my face with power so that relief washes over me as I am finally bathed in warmth. Such a day has been missed all winter, and now as I both peer up at the brightness through my sunglasses I begin to hope for the blissful days of summer.

As colorful slides, swings, and endless places to play and pretend come into view, I slow the car down and carefully turn into a small parking spot. As I take my key out of the ignition and slip it into my pocket a tiny wave of thrill fills my body. It has been a few weeks since that dream of a day where I passed my dreaded test and received the ticket to freedom but I am still thrilled every time I am able to return to the wheel of my glistening chariot.

I grab my laptop off the passenger seat and step out into the sunshine. Moments before I had been crunched over my computer prodding my mind for some thought or image to start writing about for this week. Like many times, absolutely nothing came to my fingers that were patiently balanced on the keys. This sudden writer’s block came with no warning and no mercy. I had no idea why my mind was so blank, but the fact that there was bright warm, light coming from outside that sent stripes across my desk and the car was simply screaming from its position in the driveway might have had something to do with it. I decided that it was too beautiful of a day to waste inside and what better place for inspiration and relaxation than the town’s park?

As I open the gate, a child races in front of me towards the small playhouse. I saunter over to an empty wooden bench to the side of the junior play area and sit down directly under the sun. Tapping on my sunglasses so that they fall onto my nose, I stretch and prepare to get somewhat of a tan while at work even though it’s April and I’m in Connecticut instead of California or Florida where all my friends are. My mouth nearly dropped months ago when my mother informed me that our family would not be going anywhere this spring so that she could attend a tennis camp. I have enjoyed a whole week of doing absolutely nothing though, and it hasn’t been entirely bad except for the fact that in a few days girls will come back to school with brightly colored beads woven into their hair and skin the color of caramel, and I will still be boring, plain old Daria.

I force myself to clear my mind of any reminiscing about vacations in tropical places and with the machine balanced on my knees, prepare to type something, anything that comes to mind. Instantly a flicker flashes in my mind of a conversation I had with friends at lunch about gun control. I start clicking away, the first paragraph of the article already developing in my mind. Finally, success! As I lean back and read the sentence I have just crafted, another one appears mentally and I begin to bring it to life.

“Hello!” I glance up at a small face now peering at my computer. “What are you doing?” She asks cheerfully reaching her finger towards the “h” key as I stop her just in time.

“I’m typing.” I mumble with little enthusiasm, for the burst of an idea has just vanished as quickly as it has just appeared.

“Look, I found this lady bug in the house! Her name is Lilah!” I study her with a twinge of annoyance as she starts jabbering about how she’s going to keep this small insect, that most likely is going to fly away any second now, as a pet. Her hair is the brightest blond which has been more or less plaited into two pig tails. She’s wearing a cotton gingham dress that bounces up and down as she trots in her dusty black patten leather shoes with golden buckles to the other side of the bench so she can sit next to me.

“What’s your name?” She asks with a somber expression.

“Daria.” I reply and then soften. “What’s yours?”

“Madison Alicia Albright.” She replies with little hesitation. “Will you play with me, Daria?” Her large blue eyes plead with me for love as a bee buzzes somewhere in the distance.

I look at her and sigh. I have no idea why this little person, even though she’s adorable, thinks she has the right to just interrupt my work and expect me to give all my attention to her. As I glance back the almost blank screen in front of me though, I realize that I’m not coming up with much anyway, and fifteen minutes of playtime won’t hurt anything. “All right, let’s go then.”

She grabs my hand instantly and after I place my computer carefully on the bench, she leads me happily to slides and bouncing bridges where we pretend we’re princesses and run away from imaginary monsters. After I am quiet out of breath from running with her across the sand numerous times, I sit for a quick break.

“Daria! Daria!” I hear my name being screamed across the park. “Push me on the swings!” I race towards that small bundle of joy and grab her in my arms so that she giggles uncontrollably and the smallest dimple on the top of her cheek comes into view. Setting her down on the thick strap of the swing, I bring her back towards me and then send her flying up to sky so that her pigtails dance and she swings quickly down back to my open arms. I continue to send her forward with bursts of strength as my attention is drawn towards the rest of the park. Except for few fathers who have taken the day off for Good Friday and a couple of mothers, the majority of the adults in the park are paid caretakers for the children, some with thick foreign accents and others with skin like rich chocolate.

“Maddy! It’s time to go home now. Mommy will be home soon.” A woman stands in front of us holding a deflated box of apple juice. I pick up Madison Alicia Allbright and the swing in my arms and bring her back down to the ground. It’s only minutes until she has waved goodbye and solemnly walks across the parking lot with her pigtails drooping just a bit more. My heart aches already from her absence and I immediately appreciate the time I have just spent with a this precious little one. It has only been nearly a half an hour and already I feel like Maddy could have been my own daughter. I have had only a glimpse of the joy and pleasure this little girl has for life, but yet I am enchanted by her.

As I return to my laptop, I think of the wondrous days when I will have my own tiny children. A bee buzzes somewhere behind me and I watch a small boy intently as his nanny silently walks him towards a slide. I wonder where his real parents are, perhaps both swamped with papers at a desk in an office, or maybe off playing tennis like my own mother is. The child toddles along grasping the woman’s hand. I think of how pure children are, how loving and understanding they some times can be. What makes a person who used to be so small and guiltless suddenly form into a character of insecurity and selfishness? Instantly my thoughts sadly go back to the images of teenagers weeping in each others’ arms after a high school shooting. What causes someone to be able to have the capacity to kill their own peers even at such a young age? There are hideous tales of elementary school children carrying weapons into their learning environments. Do these children and youth not feel loved and appreciated? Do they base their value on themselves solely on their lack material possessions or judgments placed on them by others?

I look around at the miniature people racing each other past the swings, completely naive to the evil of the world encompassing them. Would these children grow into lonely but vicious threats to the safety of their schools? Would any of these precious ones feel attacked and misunderstood by their peers so much that they would not value their lives and their own life as well? Pain fills my heart. I wonder where or who they are going to turn to if they feel so angry and alone to such a capacity. Who are they going to go to as a source of love if their parents and family don’t know their own fears, weaknesses, and emotions. Surely, even if that nanny is the most gentlest human being on earth or is as wise as a sage, a person paid to care for a child for most of the day can’t offer them that protection, that parental affection, that continual and undying attention as much as their own mother and father can. Family is the most important part of a person’s life, for those members of the home know each other like no other, they dwell together in an environment with opportunities for growth, love, and security. If a child or teenager can’t turn to their own home for that protection where are they possibly going to find such needed relief.

I make a vow to myself that I am going to be everything I can possibly be to my own offspring for they are the next generation and if my children can’t feel safe in their own schools where are they going to find comfort? It’s like the quote that hangs in my father’s office by David O Mckay, “No success can compensate for failure in the home. That seems kind of amusing considering that my father doesn’t come off the train until nine o clock, family meals seem impossible, and he has been on continuous long business trips from here to Timbuktu, but granted, I know he’s trying.