I am ever amazed at how tunes wind up running through my brain. This one is from an old tape of christian tunes for kids that one of the rugrats used to listen to on and on and on. Can't remember which rugrat. But it feeds into that post on joy from before.
Papa. She calls him papa, not daddy. How did I miss that all those times, only to hear it differently later? Did I want it to be daddy?
Tonight she stood at the corner halfway up the hill, waiting for him to cross to her. She was so impatient for him that as she waited, she hopped up and down on opposite feet, back and forth almost like running in place, but with her hands up in the air.
For a step or two, he imitated her as he crossed the street, a hop or two, hands in the air and a big smile on his face. Then he was across the street and lifting her up in his arms once again.
She held a paper fan in her hands, the kind that kids decorate with glitter and punch-outs, folding carefully. He took it, opened the folds, and fluttered it at his face with a huge smile.
I told myself today that I was going to bring my camera and try to get shot of them without being noticed. I wanted to post a photo with a blog post, so everyone could see them, see the joy. But I've decided not to. I think the lack of a photo allows everyone to see what they most want to see in their minds. It allows them to create the joy as they most need it to be.
Last week, she yelled papa! and leaped into his arms, and four other people were close enough to hear their laughter. Every one of them smiled, or audibly chuckled, as they continued on their way.
It's infectious, you know. This joy.
It makes me want to cry.
(photo mine, a closeup of Springtime, by Pierre-Auguste Cot, 1873)