Saturday, I worked a yoga show. Amid serving cups of tea, a family of six gathered in the booth adjacent. The four children ranged in age from the bright red mopped baby in arms of mom to the eldest boy, shy of 7. The two middle children, girls, had bedraggled brown waves that resembled my own hair when emerging from bed. At one point in playing peek-a-boo with the baby, I noticed the smallest girl watching me from the lowered curtain rod.
“What are you doing?” I asked in a playful tone.
She responded by skipping off with her father who said, “She was a nice lady, wasn’t she?”
All of a sudden she came behind my table and gave my neck a big bear hug. Moved by this sweet gesture of kindness, I walked to the other adjacent booth where the family was now perched, inquiring after the baby’s name. Before too long both of the little girls began asking questions.
“Do you believe in fairies?”
“Hmm. That’s a good question- do you?”
“Do you think they have shimmery wings?”
And the child was back hugging me again, telling me, “I think you’re beautiful.”
I was this child. I am this child. I just have forgotten how to hug and seemingly forget too often to say the words: “I think you’re beautiful.” I love children as teachers. There’s something so sage about wisdom being mirrored back into adults by children. It’s beautiful.
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