Creeper with a lightsaber
hexapetala
A casual definition of play, in the context of our own species:
It’s a means of nourishing certain capacities — emotional, social, intellectual — and of expanding problem-solving skill and high-level reasoning.
It’s a projection of self. Or many selves, brought together by an energy too often — and, alas, too accurately — attributed to the young. (Often exclusively, at that, which is erroneous at best, and true and tragic for too many. Who among us has not chosen routine obligations over play? Who among us hasn’t had to tend the laundry, or finish the shopping on the way home?)
It’s a complicated swirl of motives, of identities. Of responsibilities gleefully dented. Of the light-saber you snuck into the trunk earlier in the day, because, well, you just never know. Of groceries now left precariously long in the car, because something compelled you to pull over at the trailhead park on the way back, and now the kid is outta the seat and off like a shot.
It’s a series of grass stains found on the knees of the kid’s good pants, which you never quite spend the time to scrub out all the way, because — as you come to realize — why? What’s wrong with planning to notice, weeks later at his next recital, the ghostly green reminders of a tree root that snared your little love that evening and knocked him flat? Won’t you hear his wild laugh echo in the back of your mind and relish it like a shared secret, while he raises his trumpet to his lips under the bright lights?
It’s the long delay before you call him back to the car on that wonderful, stolen night: the birds, the cicadas, all in full holler as you stand quiet, waiting just a little bit longer while he spins in the dark. Because of this he’s going to be late for bed, left unshowered. When you kiss him goodbye in the morning before school, he’ll carry that faint, familiar waft of Stinky Kid, of mud and breath and sweat. His hair will smell of Outside. Because you, my hero, you understand. You are applying emotional capacity and high-level reasoning, which you achieved through decades of play that you either amassed yourself or that you experience through the memories of others, and you still grieve for it, as you finally grasp what you missed.
But the truth is that it’s not too late. You have a choice; part of that kid lives in you, and part of you lives in that kid. You are raising him right. Screw the groceries. Throw out the milk. Chase him between the trees, whenever you can.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, Jenn Wilson and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
