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Dear Reader,

 

She is my little girl.

She is my little girl

 

 

In a moment I have found subtly to break a new ground in personal relationships. Such ideas of caring, compassion and insights to living have fallen on premature babies in their quest for remaining deaf and blind to the world.

Little things, the way I see them, comment on them, quietly or out loud brings about this strange phenomenon of love and hate in one extreme or the other.

My granddaughter plays in the pool, still uncertain of how to swim she wears those floaties on her arm. The game among st the adults is get away or save me from them. Its only a game and she is interactive with others, it is her birthday after all. But a five year old playing “save me” or save the “princess” creates a dynamic in the mind that boggles me. Simply put I choose not to play. Perhaps this would be easier if she weren’t apart of my created family. Yes, random strangers are easier to walk away from but those who are my friends would tell you, “Thats never stopped her before.”

She asked me, “Grandma! Grandma, ” as I turn toward her in the pool. “Save the princess!” and she flails her arms to simulate desperate need of rescuing.

I can’t just walk away from that, nor can I participate so I do what I know to be real. I tell her the truth, another joyful characteristic my friends find ironically funny and irritating.

My granddaughter flails in front of me, other adults from the party whom I don’t know watching and I say, “I don’t play victim games, sorry.” Promptly grabbing her and tossing her into the pool further away from where she was flailing. Walking through the water to the other side of the pool.

It’s simple really, and something I must thank my father for, I don’t apologize for being who I am nor do I perpetuate a stereotype that will hurt someone later on in life. If you don’t like me? That is okay because my desire to be liked is outweighed by the need to speak the truth.

“Oh come now, what harm is there in a  little game?” Tony asks.

“The harm, my friend, comes from allowing the child to play “help me” when she is perfectly capable of swimming. And it is her future I see when she flails around screaming “Help ME!” The future of a woman who lets others fix her problems and finds no place to stand on her own. No distinction between help and victim, no understanding that trying and failing is just as important as trying and succeeding.

So Tony shuts up and I ask myself, is what I am doing a benefit?

I may never know that answer, but I do know I didn’t perpetuate the stereotype and that is enough.

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