The four of us are in the car, driving to Raleigh. We’ve taken a route in the hopes we’ll avoid a snowstorm in the mountains, and so far, it’s been successful. Long, but successful. We are literally driving over rivers and through the woods to get to Grandma’s house. We listened to The Golden Compass, and we stopped for Dairy Queen, and we played several rounds of Mad Libs and it was all going well until huge flakes fell in Virginia and the sunset and everyone began driving as though Easter might be cancelled due to the snow, and some of us decided what would be really fun to do is fill in the Mad Libs blanks with words only having to do with butts.
(Fun fact: it’s amazing all the verbs, adjectives, adverbs, and nouns that are associated with out backends. Talk about a great writing prompt!)
“I can’t see anymore,” Harper tells us, so Hadley shines a flashlight on our butt Mad Libs and all is well until the light shifts and gets in Jesse’s line of vision and the glare of the brake lights and the headlights combines with the fat flakes falling and the fact that we’ve been in the car for over 12 hours prompts Jesse to strongly suggest the girls fix the light so it’s not shining in his eyes so he can safely get us to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
“OK, OK, Dad,” Hadley bites back. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t mean to shine it in your face.”
“Don’t talk back, Hadley.”
“Watch your tone, Hadley.” Jesse and I say simultaneously.
We drive in the dark for a while, and the snow is falling so that it looks like we’re riding at light speed in Hans Solo’s Millennium Falcon.
“Sometimes I don’t know how to talk without arguing,” Hadley tells us. “I want to get my point across.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I don’t have a clue how to mentor Hadley in this. I want her to be a strong, confident girl and woman but I barely feel I’ve found my own voice. I’m constantly worried about disrespecting someone, or offending someone else. I don’t want this for Hadley. I want her to speak her mind, and I want her to always know it’s OK if she has a different perspective than others. I want her to believe she is OK.
“Hadley, you know I love an argument,” Jesse begins. “It’s probably the best way I communicate.”
I smile, but Hadley laughs the kind of laugh that’s mixed with relief and humor and happiness from knowing another person in the world is just like her.
“How about a metaphor,” Jesse says. “You’re good at those.”
Brake lights shine and the flakes are pink as they fall before they hit the ground and turn to water. Hadley shifts and I feel her hand on the back of my seat.
“I want to play catch with you,” Jesse tells her. “I’m not pitching fast balls, and you’re not trying to hit one out of the park. I just want you to throw the ball back.”
Even though it’s dark, I can see white petals on the magnolia trees. Spring is here and I’ve forgotten about those white petals and the pink ones from the dogwoods that every March put on a show. Hadley and Harper use to dance when those petals dropped on the sidewalk outside our condo. Harper called it our ballerina tree and Hadley would take a bowl full of water outside and put as many petals as she could in the bowl in the hopes they’d stay pink. I don’t know how she knew what would happen when they fell from the branch. Maybe Autumn showed her.
“Catch sounds good, Daddy,” Hadley begins after a time. “But here’s a question,” she says, leaning as close to us as the seatbelt will allow, “Is it OK if I throw something different back?”
We have no response but to laugh at our almost teenage girl who we hope will always work steadily and passionately to save the pink petals from losing their colors, even when it seems like a lost cause.
Yes, Hadley. Go on and throw something different back. Just keep playing catch with us.
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