Fall Imaginings

One of the great pleasures of fall, I've decided, is watching children enjoy it. This past weekend was abundant in the best that fall weather has to offer, and the kids took full advantage of it. Many of the grown-ups did, too...myself included. :-) Anyway, on Saturday afternoon, I was entertained while sitting on my balcony watching a couple of the neighbor girls down on the ground. These two young ladies are part of "the club," a group of gals aged 6-ish to 9-ish who claim the area below the overhang of a second-floor balcony as their headquarters and fan out from there. They are partial to collecting all manner of old things, from stuffed toys to deflated balls to computer keyboards, and storing them in their "clubhouse." They also like to ride bikes, hula-hoop, play dodgeball, scream frequently, and compare notes on who is better or more fair or has worked harder today. And they like to giggle. What young girls DON'T like to giggle? Some of us never grow out of it.

Anyway, yesterday's mini-club meeting had a very structured agenda laid down pretty much exclusively by one of the pair: the construction of a leaf house on the grass. This involved using old bike helmets to scoop up leaves where they had accumulated by the bike racks and haul them onto the grass, where they were shaped carefully into piles, some small, others longer. It soon became clear that this house of leaves had no walls; the leaves were not defining the house's borders but instead were furnishing it. The longer, hot-dog shaped leaf piles became couches; smaller ones were created as chairs or tables. And the whole house was constructed around around a drainage grill that became a sort of table/hearth in the center of the room, complete with decorative green leaves arranged in its center and a hula-hoop to define its edges. The construction of the leaf house took over an hour; the amount of time spent playing in it was short by comparison. It seemed that the fun was in the conception and implementation, the imagining. The children, and I, enjoyed watching what had been a little girl's vision take shape and become an outdoor living room of autumn foliage.

Imagination is a powerful thing, as is love. When you are 3 years old, you live IN THE MOMENT. There is no tomorrow, and yesterday fades quickly into the virtually memory-less void of our early childhood experiences. Not only do 3-year-olds live in the moment, but they also love or hate in the moment. There is very little moderation in their feelings. They are either happy or sad or mad, they love you or they hate you, and they feel those things with their whole beings. It is pretty amazing. I spent some time with a 3-year-old on Friday. Here is the story:

On Friday afternoon, I met up with my college friend SW and her two sons, one-year-old H and three-year-old S. We met at a beautiful park near here that has walking paths, a sculpture garden, a great playground, and a lovely manicured garden area. It was near this garden area that I met up with SW and the kids; H was perfectly quiet, but S was having a fit. It seems that in the garden there was a scarecrow, and S had wanted to see him for longer. He was quite inconsolable for a while, but SW and I decided to just go for our walk, figuring he would get tired of crying eventually. Finally, as we neared the playground, he did. Both S and H had fun on the swings, and enjoyed the bouncy bridge as well. S especially liked bouncing H on the bouncy bridge; luckily, H liked it too! Then it was time to head back to the garden area, where the car was parked. My friend had promised her older son another visit with the scarecrow before heading home, and he held her to that, and not just to see the scarecrow, but "to sit with him."

When we finally got to the scarecrow, S turned into a different child completely. Upon beholding this jolly character with his lopsided, goofy grin, tattered clothes, and big hat, S's face was transformed by pure joy. He raced up to Mr. Scarecrow, sat down beside him, and began chattering away to him delightedly. Neither SW nor I could hear what he and Scarecrow discussed, but that's okay; it was pretty clear that S's words were just for Scarecrow's burlap non-ears. S proceeded to gently touch the scarecrow and became especially fascinated by his feet, which were clad in an old pair of black hushpuppies. Their converstation continued; I have no doubt that Scarecrow talked to S, too, but just in a language that S's mom and I, being too old, couldn't understand. When it was time to leave, S bestowed a quick peck to Scarecrow's leg, and then gave him a nice, long hug, and a sweet kiss on the cheek. As he walked back to SW, H, and me, all the earlier sadness and anxiety had been wiped away from his face. And then SW understood why S had been so upset earlier. He had found a glorious new friend, part imaginary and part real, in Scarecrow, but had had to say goodbye too quickly. Now that S had had his proper visit and a chance to tell Scarecrow all that he wanted to say, it was okay to tell him bye for now. No doubt it was wonderful for S that Scarecrow was such a good listener; he never asked S to repeat any words or talk more clearly. He just sat there, taking it all in, with his wonderful smile. What a nice friend. And what a beautiful time in S's life for me to behold. I feel so lucky to have been there. Thank you, S, for reminding me how important it is that we all let ourselves be listeners, and not just advisors and gossips, to our friends and family. Thank you for giving me a glimpse of pure joy and unconditional love, emotions that adults do not let themselves feel nearly often enough. And thank you for illuminating the truth that sometimes all it takes to make a new friend is a wide, warm smile.