Thursday, October 8, 2015

There is a young cowboy who lives...

I was a young mother, a child myself when my first son was born.  To me he was the best plaything for which I could have wished.  And since he believed babies came from wishes, I suppose in this regard he was right.  He was my wish.

I remember…

…that I filled his room with toys we both loved, so we could play together for hours.  He had a huge plastic play house in his room into which we both could fit.  It took up more space than was reasonable.  One day he said that he wanted to be able to see the planets when we were in the house (I had sticker-ed glowing stars and planets all over the ceiling of his room).  So I took the off roof and threw it away, because what adult was there to say we couldn’t?

I remember…

…when the rain was light and warm we would walk between the raindrops (like the witches) and stomp in puddles (like Ping).  We would dig in the mud for worms and hold their squiggly bodies in our fingers.  We would dance barefoot in the rain, because what adult was there to tell us to put on our boots?

I remember…

…when it was cold and rainy we would make forts and create imaginary worlds with sofa cushions, drying racks, chairs, and blankets.  We left our creations up for days and even weeks, because what adult was there to tell us to clean up?

I remember…

…we played and perfected our video game skills.   In fact Zelda was one of our favorites, but I never could fly very well holding that darn chicken and he had to do it for me every time.  Often we played the video games instead of doing homework, because what adult was there to tell us otherwise?

I remember…

…we played late into the evening.  And when we were hungry, we ate ice cream for dinner before tucking in on the sofa to watch TV as we fell asleep.  We kept vampire hours whenever possible, because what adult was there to tell us to go to sleep?

I remember…

…that our life was filled with music.  We danced in our under ware, wearing towel capes fastened with diaper pins, holding tinker-toy marching sticks, yelling at the top of our lungs.  At night I would sing to him my renditions of James Taylor, John Denver, and Joni Mitchell, with some REM and Nirvana sprinkled in for good measure.  We made up our own special song combining cartoon intro, commercial jingles, and our own made up silliness, because what adult was there to say we had to sing lullabies?

 It was with many memories of my son dancing around in my head, that I traveled north for his wedding weekend.  And while his wife is everything I hoped he would find in a partner, the weekend was still a happy/sad time for me.  As I watched him stand before friends and family, my eyes could still see the little boy, even though I knew that she saw the man.  As he read his vows to her, my ears could still hear the little voice, even though I knew that she heard his deep tones.  As I my thoughts continued to travel backwards to the past lived with him, I knew that she imagined forward to a life yet lived with him.

After the beautifully touching ceremony, after their first kiss ever, after lovely boat rides to the reception, after a Hawaiian music filled dinner, and after the most beautiful hula dance from wife to husband imaginable (leaving us all blushing), the son/mother dance was upon us.  We had not talked about it, I did not know about it, and he would not be dissuaded from skipping it (my suggestion since it had started to rain).

So caught up in the moment, only gradually did I hear the song to which we were dancing.  Then it all came flooding back, the memories, the childhood, the playing, the love.  It was the song I sang to him as a baby and the song I sang with him as a child.
There is a young cowboy who lived on the range
His horse and his cattle are his only companions
He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons
Waiting for Summer, his pastures to change
And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
Thinking about MOMMIES and glasses of MILK
And closing his eyes as the doggies retire
He sings out a song which is soft but it’s clear
As if maybe someone could hear 
Goodnight moonlight ladies
Rock-a-bye sweet baby TAYLOR
Deep greens and blues are the colors I chose
Won’t you let me go down in my dreams
And rock-a-bye sweet baby TAYLOR
*MANY changes to James Taylor’s song which are my own

I will always remember…

…the rain was light and he danced barefooted.  We danced in the middle of a crowd, cocooned by their love and cushioned by their well intentions.  We danced alone, through time, as I closed my eyes and sang to him again the words that were so familiar to us.  I rocked the baby once more.  I sang with the child again.  And then at last, I beheld the man.

He has always been my wish.  And when I opened my eyes and saw her standing there watching us dance, I knew that he was her wish too!