reckless trust.

photo (64)

Where are we going, Mama?
Where ARE we going, Atticus?
To the library!
That’s right!

Atticus is in a phase where he asks questions that he already knows the answers to. Here’s a random sampling: What are you doing, Mama? What’s in your mouth? What’s that noise? Where’s Daddy? Librarians patiently answer the same questions over and over, so I am particularly well-suited for this part of the job. (Random sampling: Where’s the bathroom? Why isn’t my projector working? Do you have any Diary of a Wimpy Kid books? Answers: The door by the exit. It’s not plugged up. They are all checked out.)

He has questions about Big Bunny, too. Where’s Big Bunny? When I turn it back on him, he knows: She’s under a rock. Back there. I buried Big Bunny before Atticus got home that day so he didn’t see her body (or the box). He looked for her cage and confusion crossed his face. We were careful to say things like, “She died,” and, “She won’t be here anymore,” because we like to use real words for things. His little hand held mine trustingly as we walked to the back of the yard, his bright eyes searching our faces for answers about what he should do next. When Mike knelt down next to the grave, Atticus imitated him. He’s proud of the rock he put on her grave and he likes to visit it every few days.

I assume these questions are a security thing, that he wants to be sure that nothing has changed, or he likes asking when he already knows the answers (me too, kid). Maybe it’s like hiding when you know you are going to be found or reading the end of the book first. He has faith that we will answer him, over and over and over. We hold him when he cries, we pick him up when he falls, and we say the same things time and time again. He trusts recklessly, inspiring us to respond without holding back.

No Trackbacks

One Comment