NO 1831
Now She is Six
My nephew, his partner and their six-and-a- half-year-old daughter have been visiting us here on Protection Island. Six years ago the same threesome were out here, their daughter just a tiny baby, and we were enjoying a late-night glass of wine out on the deck when the call came that my daughter was going into labour in Vancouver. Very early, the next morning a neighbour took me into Nanaimo in his boat so that I could catch the first plane to Vancouver to be present when Charlotte entered our world and changed it for everyone. Next week Charlotte herself will turn six. The family has grown, and is growing up.
I’ve decided it’s time for me to stop writing this quarterly column. A number of people, including my daughter and son-in-law, have asked why. I enjoy it, and it provides a good chronological record for the family, and some readers tell me they like the column. So what’s the problem? The problem is that I don’t think six-year-olds like to be looked at and spoken about in ways that suggest they are curious or amusing creatures. At six there is a new proud consciousness of self, a splendid thing to observe, but along with it comes that other kind of self-consciousness which finds it embarrassing to be the object of excessive familial attention.
Recently Charlotte and I were in the car, me in the front seat with my back towards Charlotte who was behind me in her car-seat, waiting while Charlotte’s mother was grocery shopping. Charlotte was carrying on a conversation with a couple of stuffed animals that she’d brought along.
“Blackie doesn’t appreciate his sister Ruby,” Charlotte explained. “He just doesn’t appreciate the things she does for him.”
“”That’s like you and me, Charlotte,” I teased. “I do all sorts of nice things for you but you don’t appreciate them.”
There was silence. I couldn’t see Charlotte’s face but I
knew it was solemn and when she spoke her voice was serious, almost grim.
“I was thinking of trying to tell you something,” she said, slowly, “but I
was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, no,” I said, stung by such a suggestion. “Try me.”
“Well, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the things you do. It’s just that …
I am what I am.”
“Just like Popeye!” I laughed, and began to sing I’m strong to the finish
cuz I eat my spinach.
“I didn’t think you would understand,” Charlotte muttered.
“Wait. I apologize. Explain it to me. I’m really trying to understand.”
Charlotte launched into an explanation of how difficult it was to love
everybody the same amount, how her mother and father always came first, and
how that’s just how it was. “I can’t love everybody that much,” she said. “I
am what I am.”
“It’s OK,” I said. “What you are is just fine, and it’s good to know your
own feelings.
I am that I am. The phrase stays with me. Ehyeh asher ehyeh. It’s pretty
close to what God replied when Moses asked for his name. I am that I am or I
am who I am, depending upon the translation. Theologians have many theories
about the exact meaning of this phrase, but there is general agreement that
it refers to the mysterious, divine nature of God. It could also refer to
the mysterious, divine nature of children.
I think there’s a natural tendency in children to be honest and to really
want to see what is happening. As we grow older we sometimes prefer to make
up our own versions of the truth or to avoid it completely. When I recall
Charlotte’s attempt to explain her feelings to me, I think I should stand
back and not try to interpret her feelings or her behaviour. I should just
let her be. And see!
On the night Charlotte was born, my niece Darcy, her husband and two small
children, on their beach on beautiful Lasqueti Island, found an oyster with
two pearls in it. Hearing that this birth had required a last-minute
Caesarian because Charlotte had turned around and was about to come into the
world “eyes first,” Darcy saw the two little pearls as significant. A baby
who wanted to see everything! Some months later Darcy gave Charlotte’s
parents the two little pearls, and a book she had written about a willful
little oyster who, unlike her elders, wants to see what’s around her. By
remaining true to her own adventurous nature, the oyster eventually inspires
others to do the same. The book, The Oyster Who Looked at the Sky, has just
been published by Oolichan Books and is available in most bookstores. It’s a
good description of the kind of child Charlotte is, and a wonderful story
about a lesson I’m slowly learning.
Time for me to stop talking and start really looking. So, lead the way,
Charlotte, and just keep on being who you are. I’ll follow, and cheer you
on, and refrain from comment.
CAROL MATTHEWS
Matthews, C. (2008). Now she is six. Relational Child and Youth Care Practice Volume 21 Number 3, pp.10-11.
