six

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.

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