“There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
When you live in a community for over twenty years, your roots go deep. Mine seep into the backyard porch, winding up the garden trellises and trickle into the kitchen of the house I grew up, past the old, rickety table my dad built into the garage and rest on white wicker bar stools.
When I stand at the island in the kitchen at my mother’s house, I always notice white. The worn white countertops contrast the bright blues and yellows she chose for the walls. Theses colors are the backdrop to my teenage years. The wicker chairs, leaning against the the back of the island, held my tennis bag in high school, and steadied me when my plans for private liberal arts school didn’t go as planned. They watched as my college boyfriend came and went on the weekends, stood present when I came upstairs and told my parents we were talking of getting engaged. They held me up the day Dad died, and sitting wasn’t an option.
I didn’t imagine still using the surface as part of my daily routine in my thirties. What was once filled with school forms, permission slips, a snack or two for me, now holds the Tupperware, rinsed bottles, and grubby pouches covered in the day’s leftover snack for my toddler.
On a summer evening last week, I stood again, at the island, and noticed the white. This time, the surface was covered in take-out boxes and a bag filled with stained baby clothes. We gathered to eat in the rush of a busy week, and I balanced the baby on my hip, trying to get my small family ready to go from Mom’s house back to ours – the drive now so familiar I could walk it in my sleep.
Baby is learning songs now, using her hands to sign “more” when the song we’ve selected isn’t what she had in mind. Playing DJ, she kept us guessing until we got to just the right song. Dylan paired our horrible accompaniment of our voices with Spotify and played “Here Comes the Sun” as we sang along.
Here comes the sun (Doo-d-doo-doo)
Here comes the sun
And I say, “It’s alright”
Baby clapped, her smile big enough to see the newly emerging front teeth she is sprouting. And in that moment, I leaned against the wicker stool once more, roots sinking deeper into the worn wood floors of my youth.
[Verse 1]
Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
As we sang, both Dad’s presence and absence became magnified in the moment. Seven years is a long time for someone to be absent.
[Chorus]
Here comes the sun (Doo-d-doo-doo)
Here comes the sun
And I say, “It’s alright”
Perhaps he was blessing our post-dinner rush. It’s alright.
We’ve got roots, and they keep me coming back to the place where I grew. Now baby grows there, too.
We’re smiling. And there’s a new face at the countertop. She’s given us wings. I hope she’ll grow her roots here too. What a beautiful thing.
52 Beautiful Things 