Once, when she was much smaller, walking home on an early spring evening:
She: “The snow is meltin’, mama. We’re gonna have a big flood.”
Me: “What makes you think it’s going to flood, honey?”
She: “Cuz there’s so much snow.”
Me: “It won’t flood, the water will go down the storm drains and back to the lakes and rivers. That’s why you can’t put anything bad down the drains.”
She: “Like what?”
Me: “Well, what kinds of things do you think? Would you put paint into the lakes?”
She: “No.”
Me: “Would you put gas from your car in the lakes?”
She: “No.”
Me: “What else do you think you shouldn’t put in the storm drains?”
She: “Apple juice.”
She obviously has some very strict personal guidelines for protecting the earth. She also likes apple juice too much to waste it. But I don’t like to think of that sensitivity as a childish thing she’ll grow out of. I like to think she’s already a better person than I am.
Another evening a few years ago, she was sitting on the kitchen counter, while I cut up strawberries … and she chirped about random things for a while, then said, matter-of-factly:
“Strawberries are good for the ‘viro-mint because they have LOTS of seeds. An’ seeds make more strawberries an’ those are plants an’ more plants is good for the ‘viro-mint, so we should buy more strawberries, mama.”
She’s developed a conscience, that way … she also loves strawberries, but she’s realizing now that there’s more to living on the earth than finding a good tree to tie a jump-rope to or patch of grass to cartwheel on.
She's realizing now that her world extends beyond the playroom and playground.
~~~
I remember when I was little, the first animal that made me aware of the environment was the killer whale. Growing up in B.C., you can’t avoid them.
We learned in school about people who killed whales for profit and how dirtying the ocean hurt their habitat. We were told about people who dumped oil and chemicals and made the fish the whales depend on for food get sick and die, so the whales would have to travel far from home to find something good to eat … or the whales would eat the bad fish and get sick and die.
And I went on a family trip to the Vancouver Aquarium and saw the captive ones. I wanted to touch one, more than anything. I remember rubbing the underneath of my tongue and wondering if that’s what a killer whale would feel like.
After we’d toured the exhibits, we went into the gift shop and I remember really really wanting one of the stuffed killer whales, but was too shy to ask for one. And, when you’re only in grade one, it’s not a fake whale … to you it’s a whale you can touch … real enough to love and hold and protect … small enough to take home in your coat.
I see that need in MeMe.
She found a soft, white Easter lamb in a store and cried when I told her she couldn’t take it home. I knelt in front of her, trying to explain to her that she couldn’t have every toy she sees, tried to compromise and get her to choose one that was less expensive and rubbed her back, listened to her hic-cough and watched her face get redder and blotchier … I know her well enough to know the heartbreak wasn’t about having a toy … and I realized she’d already fallen in love with the lamb while I was busy reading the shampoo bottles.
One night we were lying in her bed, reading a story … I was falling off the edge of the bed, crowded out by all of her buddies … and I asked her why she needed to take 57 stuffed animals to sleep with her.
She answered, “They’re scared of the dark, mama. See? I have them all sitting so they can see and so they can breathe. And the friends are together.”
MeMe’s not afraid of the dark … never has been. She has never had a nightlight and has never had a nightmare … has never once plodded into my room in the middle of the night because she found something scary.
That’s not what the animals in the bed were about. She thought she was taking care of them. And it occurred to me that it is a very brave thing for a 6-year-old to take on the responsibility of being guardian to that many loved ones while she sleeps.
~~~
When MeMe was a little more than 3 years old, we were walking out of our apartment building and I spotted a little brown bird lying on the concrete beside the lobby window.
At first, I grabbed her jacket sleeve to steer her away from the bird, hoping she wouldn’t see it and get upset or, even worse, ask questions. But I realized maybe it had just hit the window and was stunned. So, instead of hiding it, I pointed it out to her and crouched down beside it to pick it up. MeMe sat curiously on the ground next to me. I explained to her that maybe the bird would die, but maybe it was just bonked … and maybe, if we watched over it for a few minutes while it slept, it would be ok.
The two of us sat cross-legged on the cement at the doorway and I put the bird in her hands and closed mine over hers, so only the bird’s face was peeking out. As we sat there, I explained to her that sometimes God wants the animals with Him … and sometimes God wants the animals to be free on the earth … and sometimes God gives us a chance to help them stay with us for a little longer.
After a couple of minutes of sitting and staring at our hands, she giggled and squeaked, “It’s tickling me, mama!” … so we slowly opened our hands and the little bird was on its feet … the bird chirped a couple of times and jumped onto MeMe’s jacket … and, from there, to her shoulder … and back to her tummy … and bounced around on her for a few seconds … and then flew away.
She will still often say to me, on a nice day when we’re outside and can hear the birds cheeping, “Do you remember that little brown bird, mama? The one that I saved?”
I’m so grateful she was old enough to remember the little bird she helped … and I wonder sometimes, when she grows up, if that little bird will be her killer whale.
~~~
I LOVE THIS!!!
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