Yet sometimes, I’ll see myself in them, too… not in the larger, more ethereal sense, like “oh he’s got my sense of humor” or “oh, she’s got my grandmother’s nose,” but more in the “oh-wow-yep-I-do-that” sort-of-way. For example, to prevent myself from unleashing a string of expletives that would shock their ears when something is going wrong I’ve been known to just mumble “darn-it” repeatedely Recently, my son was doing something in a play kitchen and I overheard him saying “darn-it, darn-it, darn-it, darn-it!” My daughter likes to go to “work,” and when doing so makes sure she packs a huge purse to take with her. When preparing for long and exhausting car trips like going to the grocery store we all agree that it’s necessary to stop at the McDonald’s drive-thru for something delicious to drink.
They influence each other as well—my daughter’s current love of pop music has infiltrated my son to the point where he belts out Katy Perry with the best of them. My son’s matchbox car collection is impressive enough that it’s been known to make my daughter leave her princess carriage and join the pit crew (who am I kidding; act as pit boss).
They are parts of me and parts of my husband and parts of each other and parts of the world. And they are parts of themselves, unique and all to their own. We are all made up of a little bit of everything—a tapestry of things we’re born with, things we learn, things we copy, things we invent.
As they grow older, I wonder which parts of their current tapestry my children will embrace and which they will reject. Will my son always be fascinated with machines? Will my daughter always love teaching? Will my daughter keep her spectacular fashion sense? Will my son always be a wild extrovert? Will they form a rock band together and travel the world when they are just teenagers, leaving their father and me to wring our hands with worry but also beam with pride? Will they stay close or go far? Will they embrace our family’s love of snacking and coffee or will they create their own habits?
Watching American Idol the other night (I know, I know), I heard Harry Connick, Jr. reference a line from Walt Whitman that I love: “the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.” And I thought—that’s it! No matter what our tapestry, we are all here to contribute a verse, aren’t we? My children’s verses will undoubtedly be different, because their tapestries will be different—just as yours is different from mine. “Brilliant!”, I thought. That’s how I’ll end my blog—with the question of “What’s Your Verse To Contribute?”
And then this happened:
Watching the football playoff games this weekend (GO BRONCOS!) I saw an iPad Air commercial that pretty much said the same thing. Like, almost exactly. Using the same verse from Whitman. And I thought four things:
- Hey! iPad stole my line!
- Wow, I am as brilliant as the creative minds behind iPad!
- Jeez, my idea of inspirational thoughts is as lame as the people who make commercials.
- Huh. The universe put that Walt Whitman quote, which I hadn’t thought of in years, in front of me two times in less than a week. It must really be trying to get me to pay attention.
So, maybe instead of trying to figure out my children’s tapestry, and the verse that they will contribute, I should just take a look at my own. And, maybe I should also remember that all of our tapestries will often intersect and intertwine and overlap… and that is one of the most beautiful parts of this powerful play we call life.
Sorry, iPad, I’m still gonna keep my closing line even though you got to it first:
What’s Your Verse To Contribute?
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