I am sitting here trying to remember what it was like to be a six year old girl. It was a long time ago. I don't remember much at all. Nothing really. Do most people remember themselves that young? There are some little moments that strike me. I can close my eyes and picture my first grade room, but really it could be any class room at any time in my young life. I think I remember what my bed looked like, my favorite toy. But these could be moments mixed up in time, memories from other spaces and place. Dreams.
My daughter is six. I am guessing it's not easy being six. This overwhelming desire to be independent with a desperate need for love and attention. It's a confusing thing. Times when she want to ride her bike around the block only to get half way there and have a need to turn around. To make sure someone is there to protect her. I see that in her eyes. She pedals slowly enjoying her freedom. On the other side she moves faster to get home. There was a second when I wasn't there and she desperately needed me. Or so I long to believe.