Last night I am frying fish and Turner is eating his pre-dinner. I tell him we are going to a shower tomorrow. There is confusion about whether water is involved. I explain it is a bridal shower for Faith and LaRue. I tell him they are getting married and we are celebrating their happiness. He says, "Oh. Of course. Will I get to see Faith's tummy?"
"Why?"
"Well. Is her baby in there yet?"
"No. Why do you think there will be a baby in there?"
"Well," he says this with that tone of 'you already know this but I will be patient and explain it to you again,' "Mom. They are getting married so the baby comes into Faith's tummy so everyone will know."
"But, not everyone that gets married has babies. And, not everyone that has babies gets married." I offer him examples of people he knows who embody these lifestyles.
"Oh. Then how do babies get there if it isn't getting married?" I flip fish. Several times and hope he'll say something else for me to address than this big questions of where babies originate. I don't want to lie to him or talk to him about some fanciful stork. But, I am not ready to whip out some grown up words to a little guy that might want to spread them around school...And then,
"Do girls marry girls?"
"Um. Well. Sometimes."
"Only in Kentucky, right?"
"No, girls can't marry girls in Kentucky."
He starts in the middle of my sentence to disagree, "But Miss Peggy said girls couldn't marry girls in Tucson."
"Well, she's correct, but . . . "
"Avah and Emma will just have to go to Kentucky to get married."
"Oh. They want to get married?"
"Yeah. I told them how to get to Kentucky."
"And how do they do that?"
He gets up from the table and puts his corncob into the trash. "Mom. You are always asking such silly questions. You know how to get to Kentucky. You get on the airplane and then somebody shows up at the airport and drives us home." I have never been so lonely for home in my entire life.
Update to the swimming post last night (when I checked out my notes from the conversation last night, I found a note at the top I'd written at the pool. Here t'is.)
There are loads of things about being a parent that fall into the category under which my father gently filed many of our conversations, "You'll understand it someday when you have kids." There are times when I am taking in Turner as he moves through his day and I feel some of those emotions Daddy tried to explain over and over. I just love him with such fullness, and I find every thing he says to have meaning even beyond what he sometimes knows. He does things, for example, that sound just like Andy, or he'll make facial expressions or body movements that are familiar to those who love Turner. He inherited all of these things, and it is our job to help him embrace them as a legacy of love I suppose.
I am a lover of water, but I hate for it to be in my face. Laura appreciates this too. Even in the shower, if I get water in my eyes I am a big baby about it and refuse to open my eyes again until I can get to a dry towel. I hide it fairly well, I think. Turner hates water in his face too.
We had been at the pool for about twenty minutes or so. T was water doggin it around the pool, chasing boats and looking under the water with his scuba gear. At one point he turns around abruptly and starts swimming frantically from the deep end of the pool. I feel fear weave inside of me because in the pace of his swimming I sense that something is wrong. As he nears, I see that his eyes are tightly shut. He is swimming to the sound of my voice (he keeps calling my name and I say Yes and he keeps swimming).
"Why are your eyes closed Turner?" He is still swimming. It is a far swim for a little guy in a life jacket.
"I have water in them." His pace is so swift that he is splashing tons of water all over his face as he continues to swim the length of the pool. Noland and his dad laugh. They think this is super cute. It takes me a few moments to realize what they were laughing at. When I do, I explain how Turner hates water in his face. Then I remember my father explaining one of my ticks to someone and that person saying something not very nice about indulgence. After we were back in the car I cried, ashamed that I had embarrassed my father in front of his friend. He assured me he was not embarrassed in the least, that he loved even the crazy things about me. He told me that parents support all things about their children, and that I wouldn't understand the depth of that support until I had children of my own. Each day that Turner gives me the opportunity to share in his world in some way or to support him somehow, I realize a bit more how deeply my folks love me. Today, I just provided a dry towel.
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