Matching Tracksuits

All this time we’ve had the chalk and yet, to my memory, we’ve never used it for what it’s intended.

Sure, one can make the argument that chalk was invented for chalk boards.

As a teacher in Poland, I made my fair use of the chalkboard, coming back to the teachers’ room with my hands covered with chalk. Chalk dust on my clothes, on my shoes, everywhere.

Yet I never understood that Edward J. Chalkster (or whoever the inventor) really intended chalk for entertainment, not pedagogy.

Had I known, I certainly would have lodged a protest: chalk abuse. Chalk misuse.

“It’s for outside use only!” I might have protested.

“It is, above all else, intended for one, single, aerobic function.”

Hop-scotch.

Now we all know. I don’t think it will be the last time. This week.

We are slowly creating a late-winter, Sunday afternoon ritual that is focused on swing time for the Girl. We headed to Southside Park Sunday, and as we sat there, K and I realized it was a better choice than our usual one: less crowded and closer.

The Girl was pleased, too.

Such a change from the first time we were at Southside. Still wobbly-footed and wary of being alone, she wouldn't let us out of her sight.

And naturally, we didn't want her out of our reach. Wobbles turning to dangerous tumbles -- the nightmare I continually endured at playgrounds last year. "They're made to bounce," Nana and Papa say, but my gut isn't made to bounce: it dropped every time she fell, filling my head with visions of -- well, no need to go there.

Now, when she's playing, the Girl makes the choice whether or not to play near us, and I'm only moderately paranoid. I'm sure that moderate paranoia will continue until she's in her thirties or so.

Or maybe it is a permanent fixture.

It is the flip side of the joy of seeing her smile, of hearing her laugh. It is the worry that it won't always be so. And why worry about that? Certainly she'll have her share of bruises, emotional and physical, and it's only natural that I want to protect her from them -- at least minimize the impact. Yet we learn from the pain. In theory.

L still doesn't learn from the pain. At least, she's not convinced. She knows the cat doesn't like being tugged and violently hugged, and she knows what the cat's claws are capable of, but every few days, the Girl tests the hypothesis again.

At least now the threats are visible, and the cause and cure clear.

Indeed, this is the only time that K and I can kiss the pain away. Pain floats away, removed with a kiss that is then blown into the empty distance. "Bye bye!" L says after we blow away the kiss that took away the pain.

Broken hearts and disappointment aren't so easily mended.

But with everyone playing on a cool Sunday afternoon, these thoughts drift away.

The guns are still plastic.