At bedtime on the evening of the first set of Olympics Sports that Emily watched this year, she said as I put her to bed, “Mimi I want to be in the Olympics when I get bigger. What sport can I do where I won’t get hurt?”
A few days ago, we were talking about how she missed her mommy and daddy. We talked about how Mommy and Daddy have Mimi’s phone number and they can call to visit. I told her, “Remember, there are talking doctors that can help you sort your thoughts while you wait for Mommy and Daddy to visit.” She said, “NO WAY! YOU are all the doctor I need!” I asked her, “What would she do if she was a mommy and her children lived with their Mimi.” Her matter of fact reply? “Well, you see, that would never happen, because I would be raising my children.”
Last night after ballet practice, George treated us to Taco Tico for dinner. EVERY single time Emily enters there she asked the same question to the employee at the register while pointing to the “Now Hiring” sign. “So, what about this? Can I be hired here?” The lady this time told her, “Awe, honey, you have to be sixteen to work here.” She dropped from her tippy toes, a position she had to be in to see over the counter and started counting on her fingers. “Eight more years. I have eight more years.”
When we got our food, as she scarfed hers, she very proudly said, “I want to run for president!” Oh, my, I would surely vote for you, Emily!!! I told her, you know why? Because you have a good heart, you care about people, you are smart and you try hard.
A few minutes later she said in a voice that seemed to be talking to herself… “I want to make a movie and be a star.” Of course I don’t know how much of her thoughts were provoked by the television playing in the corner. But then the news came on.
And there in front of my Emily was the devastated Syrian child shown again sitting beside himself, in the ambulance, discovering blood on his face and wiping it on the seat as if to separate himself from the trauma. I can’t began to tell you the pain I feel when I see it. I simply detest the sensationalism. The thought that even as a grown man, his inner child will relive this moment because some sorry tail, selfish photo journalist wanted a “prize shot.” A prize shot...of no one giving to the comfort of the hurting devastated child...set the blasted camera down and do something important like give to the child who just had an unbelievable trauma occur. I was in disbelief as it was revealed to my granddaughter as she ate her dinner, despite my having been able to keep her from the exposure for so long now…I said, “This is why I do not let her watch the news. I don’t want her to see the bad in the world.” Emily then said in her self-preservation way…as if she can control the future…because doing so makes her feel safe… “That’s okay. I’m just gonna make sure it never happens to me.”
Kids…do say the darnest things…some funny…some touching…some so very heart breaking.