My seven-year-old is a child ruled by continuously opposing energies. If she’s not spazzing out before bedtime, unable to stop moving, she is unconscious between her sheets. If she’s reading quietly on the couch, the next moment she is dancing through the house with the grace of a water buffalo. She’s either starving or not at all hungry. It’s almost like she’s always struggling, being pulled by opposing magnets at all times.
Apparently, she is the same in school. Most of the time, her teachers rave about her level of participation, the speed with which she acquires new skills or learning, and her exuberance. And then there are the times when she’s had a bad day, when she gets a red flag for behavior, when she cries when I pick her up, broken-hearted at some perceived slight or criticism, and I have a sad little bundle of girl to carry to the car, wrapped up in my arms. But the sad never lasts long. It’s turned around with a popsicle, a hug, or talking it out, or dancing. And then she’s back to herself.
Her storytelling follows the same emotional patterns. To illustrate, here’s a story she wrote about Rapunzel:
In Kelsey’s version of a beloved classic, we have what appears to be our storyteller, wearing green. I have no idea what the monster with the crazy eyeball is doing in that scene. Maybe it is listening to the story? And then a joyous Rapunzel, walking with her grandmother in the park. The grandmother doesn’t get screen time apparently, but a dog does. Then, the smiling witch uses some magic to cut off Rapunzel’s hair. And, apparently, bring about a change in Rapunzel’s costume and pet. Those witches, they always get such a bad rap. But then, you’ll notice, in the final scene, Rapunzel is SMILING! I think she likes her haircut. She’s also wearing a green dress. Maybe we are to assume that the storyteller is actually Rapunzel, telling her own story. Maybe I’m reading too much into 7-year-old art?
This art is representational of the way my child approaches her world. Sometimes bad things happen, but then things work out GREAT in the end! And there’s very little in the middle. Lots of black and white, with very little gray. She moves through emotions with such speed that there’s little time to process and reflect. She is down and depressed about something. We talk or do something positive. She rebounds.
Last week, Kelsey played a game at recess where she was the puppy, and one of her friends was her owner. The owner told the puppy that she wasn’t being a good puppy and wouldn’t get a bone. When I picked her up from school, she was crying so hard, I figured someone must have eviscerated a unicorn in her presence. So, she told me the story of the puppy who didn’t get a bone, with tears flowing freely down her face. And I listened and dried her tears and tried not to laugh. By the time we got home, 5 minutes later, she was jumping out of the car, excited to be playing puppies with her very sympathetic sister. Hell, *I* was still sad about the poor little puppy. She, however, had moved on. And this is the way she approaches everything. She bounces back.
And it’s not that I want her to change! How simple would life be if we could all just take the sadness, the tragedy in such easy strides, jumping over all the bad feelings and the depression, the lasting anger and need for closure. It’s just that with Kelsey, the lows are so very low, and the highs are so very high. The tears come easily, and the smiles glows so brightly it’s almost blinding.
In the story arc of Kelsey’s life, I hope she’s always able to overcome the tragedy of bad haircuts and mean witches, and end up smiling and victorious at the end. But I also hope these years are just the joyous beginnings of a person who figures out how to rule these conflicting energies and bend them to her will so that there is more time in those interstitial places for emotions, more time for contemplation and deeper understanding. I know that I’ll miss these years when she is a teenager, and instead of imaginary puppies and doggie bones, there’s a boy or girl who breaks her heart, or a contest or competition she doesn’t win, a loss that can’t be fixed with such easy currency. Until then, I fully intend to share with her the simple joys of popsicles and warm sunny days in the park, for long snuggles and hours-long art projects, and for dancing around like a giraffe on acid to the music inside her head.