G with a metallic plastic Easter egg between his face and the dining room table, rolling it back and forth (and back and forth…) with his nose, watching it with his eyes.
Z intently watching this. Being inoculated – I hope - against making fun of (or in any way judging) someone who is doing something “different,” something she’d never do -- and certainly not in public.
Me: having a flashback:
Rewind 30-35 years. See me at the dining room table, swaying slowly back and forth, almost hypnotized by the visions reflected in the curved silver water pitcher.
Sometimes also intoning repetitive phrases under my breath, and/or slowly moving my fingers in front of my face to change, frame, or multiply what I was seeing.
Did anybody even notice me? Then and now I’ve tended to forget sometimes that people can see me, but I really, really think no one noticed these actions, which were frequent – and of which I have some of my only (and strongest) visual childhood memories.
All I can think is: it was the late-70s and early-80s: parents didn’t notice kids then the way they do now.
I’m glad Z noticed G; I noticed too – and felt, belatedly, like I belonged. Like me about a million years ago, G probably doesn’t currently notice he’s doing anything “different.”
But I love that when someday he remembers moments like this (I am thinking of David Finch, in his Journal of Best Practices, recalling pushing his nose along the rug, a LOT), G will surely know that we got and/or accepted him completely at ALL TIMES. I love, love, love that *Z* knows – without being told – that, in this family at least, “different” is absolutely “normal.”
Full Spectrum Mama