MAY 12, 2019 [See Part I] . . . Shortly after that, I had another experience, which also made a lasting impression on me as to Mother’s willingness to see what I saw, as well as taste what I tasted. For dessert one hot summer evening, Mother had served each of us half a grapefruit in a dark, plastic soup bowl. After I had eaten the segments, Dad reached over and with his powerful hand squeezed the remaining juice into my bowl.
“Go ahead. Drink up,” he said. I lifted the bowl to my mouth and slurped away until it was empty. As I drew the bowl away from my face, I saw across the shiny bottom, distorted reflections of my face, the windows behind me, and the ceiling. Only I didn’t ‘see’ these things, but rather, imagined that I was seeing a magical place, a mansion with upper and lower porches, surrounded by thick vegetation and inhabited by mysterious people. I set the bowl down on the table and continued to stare into it to watch the scene develop further.
“What are you looking at?” Mother asked.
“I’m looking at a big house with porches and trees and lots of leaves and I think maybe someone lives there but I don’t know who and I want to see them come out.” Mother asked to see the bowl. I shoved it toward her, and she pulled it close to her and peered into its shiny bottom.
“Oh, yes, ah ha! I see it too!” she said. “You want to see it, girls?” she asked my two older sisters. They didn’t want to see. Their imaginations were much sharper than mine, but in that particular instance, it was more fun for them to make fun of me. But it meant very much to me that Mother not only could see but wanted to see what I saw.
What made an indelible impression on me way back on those two lazy, summer days was that my mother could get right down on my level, see and even taste my world exactly as I was experiencing it and actively embrace it without typical, adult-like disapproval or inhibition. And thus, I came to see my mother in different light from all the other adults in my life.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
