"Garret, do you want bread?"
"Wuh-er." (Water)
"What color would you like to use this time?"
"Yeyow." (Yellow)
"Bwed," (Bread) he asks of me.
"You ask Ate (Caregiver) to toast bread."
"Ah-teh, bwed."
Many years ago, he wouldn't even look at me in the eye for more than a second. Verbal language was absent. But now. Now is different. Now is better. Now is so far from where we began. Now he speaks to me. He responds to me. He tells me what he wants albeit, singly. One amazing-sounding word at a time.
I think about how I love and write poetry. I wish someday my boys could understand it, could come to love the intricacy and magnificence of language both in its written and spoken form.
The irony of my life does not escape me. It in fact poses greater questions that I ask myself everyday:
As a mother, am I willing to let go of the kind of language I love so much and embrace another form of language, one that goes beyond any written or spoken form, one that is in its purest, most elemental form? And how will I speak to my boys in a way that they will truly understand?
As a mentor, teacher and in other roles in my life, the questions stand. And the answer remains unchanged everyday even in the most trying ones--
Yes, with all my heart. I will let go, embrace and speak the language devoid of any unnecessary abstraction, metaphors, and flowery words. I will nourish them with the language that is simple, clear and direct to the point.
Over the years I find gifts of insight-- Elegance in simplicity. Poetry in clarity. Beauty in a place where the intended meaning of the speaker and the understanding of those who hear the message come together effortlessly.
In the years to come, if my heart is wide enough and willing to expand some more, more insights abound waiting to be discovered just like the words that my dear Garret slowly and wonderfully unearths. Just like the pieces of understanding my feisty Morgan unravels. One amazing miracle at a time. Perhaps the most precious treasure I will find is that I will realize, if I haven't already, that my boys are living and breathing poetry all by themselves and that my wish has already been granted long before I expected it to come true.
"Wuh-er." (Water)
"What color would you like to use this time?"
"Yeyow." (Yellow)
"Bwed," (Bread) he asks of me.
"You ask Ate (Caregiver) to toast bread."
"Ah-teh, bwed."
Many years ago, he wouldn't even look at me in the eye for more than a second. Verbal language was absent. But now. Now is different. Now is better. Now is so far from where we began. Now he speaks to me. He responds to me. He tells me what he wants albeit, singly. One amazing-sounding word at a time.
I think about how I love and write poetry. I wish someday my boys could understand it, could come to love the intricacy and magnificence of language both in its written and spoken form.
The irony of my life does not escape me. It in fact poses greater questions that I ask myself everyday:
As a mother, am I willing to let go of the kind of language I love so much and embrace another form of language, one that goes beyond any written or spoken form, one that is in its purest, most elemental form? And how will I speak to my boys in a way that they will truly understand?
As a mentor, teacher and in other roles in my life, the questions stand. And the answer remains unchanged everyday even in the most trying ones--
Yes, with all my heart. I will let go, embrace and speak the language devoid of any unnecessary abstraction, metaphors, and flowery words. I will nourish them with the language that is simple, clear and direct to the point.
Over the years I find gifts of insight-- Elegance in simplicity. Poetry in clarity. Beauty in a place where the intended meaning of the speaker and the understanding of those who hear the message come together effortlessly.
In the years to come, if my heart is wide enough and willing to expand some more, more insights abound waiting to be discovered just like the words that my dear Garret slowly and wonderfully unearths. Just like the pieces of understanding my feisty Morgan unravels. One amazing miracle at a time. Perhaps the most precious treasure I will find is that I will realize, if I haven't already, that my boys are living and breathing poetry all by themselves and that my wish has already been granted long before I expected it to come true.
No comments:
Post a Comment