She wrote me a letter when she was 3. I guess she didn't want me to worry! She said, in a scratchy scrawl, Mom and Dad are fine, so are Libby and Jack and so am I.
She drew stick figures of them all, all smiling, straight arms held high, fingers wide, physical evidence should I have any doubts if they were alive and well. She added a stick figure of baby Jesus for safe measure. She was 3, many of her letters and numbers were backwards, hands and fingers and feet of her stick figures wildly oversized, as were their eyes, as if surprised. I knew her intention, all was good on her end and she hoped things were good on mine. She didn't understand why I had to leave, go away to study, go away to college, when she barely knew me. She didn't understand my random, occassional visits home, like an unexpected uncle rolling through. She'd wrap her arms around my neck, hugging tight, searching for familiarity, only to lose it again, fleeting and unfair. Maybe that's why she added the baby Jesus, a hopeful omen, a talisman, foreshadowing more frequent and safe returns.
I love this.. It was good to hear you read at the sixty odd poets last night...
Oh my gosh, so touching, Rich. One of my kids drew every person with no arms and a huge smile when he was three. I wonder what it means?!