Mimi stop that… Mimi don’t do that…Mimi why did you do that?
It was always one thing or the other.
One time it was a bead, passed through my nostril, my mom had to rush me to the clinic. I don’t know how but thank goodness it eventually passed through the northern end.
Another time, when I was four years old, my mom and I had to spend weeks at the hospital… I had successfully burnt my right thigh with a flask of boiling water.
Of all my wild adventures, one that always gets me is the look on my dad’s face when he came home one day found me on top of a hinged door.
The one that scared me the most was when I got stuck in a mango tree with a monkey who seemed to be out for revenge because I and the neighbourhood kids used to make fun of him.
At 40, I wonder where this wild child is.
Do I miss her? I am not so certain.
Do I like who she was, oh yes I do. She was wild and free.
But for the way I drive, I think everything else about the child seems to have been tamed with age.
I miss her too, a lot. In ways I cannot explain. I loved her soooo much. I am grateful for this you though, for in strange way I am not so sure that you would have loved me the way this you loves me. Loves us. And has become. In what we lose, we find more and in that more, we become far greater than we can ever know.
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I allowed your comment to stay with me for a while before I replied.
I totally love what you wrote. And I totally agree.
I don’t think I could have loved this way.
I catch a glimpse of that child’s character in some adults I meet and I am not able to say that I like what the adult version could be. True, in what we lose, we find more.
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