“I’m part garden fairy and part witch, you know,” my daughter says, gathering dandelion and sourgrass stems in her basket for a potion.
“I’m not surprised,” I say. Which I’m not.
She puts down the basket and begins to balance along a run of wood, claiming it helps her practice her balance for when she flies on her broom.
“I’ve got something from both sides of the family,” she continues.
“I know you got the witchery from Mama’s side,” I say. No doubt on this front.
“Yep. And you like the garden.” She pauses a little bit, thinking.
“You’ve influenced me emotionally,” she explains. She knows where she has come from; what part I do and don’t have in it; how our Special Uncle Pat (and by extension his family) gave to our family what I didn’t have to give.
“You helped me get born emotionally.” Repetition, for emphaisis and clarity.
“So have you, sweetie,” I tell her, “so have you.”
She looks at me with a sobriety that is at once beyond her years, and utterly familiar. Then she’s off, flying her broom back and forth, back and forth, over the garden.
[Have you voted for your favorite blogs in the 2011 Bloggies yet? No? Well this one’s up for best LGBT Blog (scroll waaaaaay down). You know, in case you were sitting on the fence for that category. Just a suggestion.]