Mermaids

Tasca Shadix

Nothing particularly unusual happened on 17 August, 2007. My husband went to work early, leaving me alone with our then almost-three-year-old daughter, Bo, who spent most of the morning wearing only a pair of baggy pants and a tutu into which she had tucked, for reasons known only to her, a toy duck and a dishtowel.

We played with Play-Doh that day. We read stories. We watched television and ate a good snack, followed by a decadent lunch of tomatoes, carrots, fresh bread from the local bakery, a deliciously creamy avocado, cheese, and (in my case) an entire tin of sardines. Then we made a huge smoothie, the consistency of sorbet, and ate every last bit of it. If either of us so much as licked another item of food, I imagine we would have exploded.

We took a bath together, or rather, she joined me as I bathed and read a news magazine. I set it aside, and we had a great time discussing mermaids: Can they walk, really? And how do they wash their hair? We pondered the question "Who is young and who is old?" and also her favourite philosophical topic, Death, also known as Going into the Ground. Everyone goes into the ground she knows that much but she has many questions about the topic. "When was there not any people? I wasn't there. I want to know, she asked me. And "Who will be when all the people are dead?"

I dont remember what I told her. I hope it was the truth, that I have no idea. But if I stammered out some fumbling speculation about the universe, I hope she wont hold me to it.

After our bath, as we sat at her little crafts table, I was playing the latest Be Good Tanyas CD, and pointing out to Bo the instruments we could hear in the songs. I told her that this was my favourite music, and that it made me want to dance in my chair.

She started swaying in her own chair. "It makes me do it, too," she said, and we sat there for a lovely moment, dancing in our chairs.

"It also makes me do this. I closed my eyes and bobbed my head.

She nodded solemnly. "It kind of makes your head dance.

That statement made me so proud. I thought, she already has the poet's gift for concise truth! Well, really it's probably just that poets have retained the knack of observing the world as children do. But...yes, Bo, it does kind of make your head dance, doesn't it?

Sometimes I feel inadequate because I'm not an extremely skilful person, and I wonder what tools for life I will be able to pass on to my daughter. I'm a disinterested cook, a tech illiterate, I can't play music or fix cars or sew or garden or build things with wood. I can speak French and execute a mean karate kick, but Im hardly a role model for choosing practical, level-headed pursuits to enhance one's life for skill and profit.

However, on that day, I could sense it, could almost put my finger on what Im teaching Bo about life. Or rather, we taught each other, that day, about food, and music, and beauty, and whimsy, and long, quiet mornings with plenty of time to think. Surely those, too, are valuable things to share.

It was just another day with my daughter, no more representative of our time together than the days when I'm crabby and hurried, or she's whingey and contrary, but what a sweet day it was. Write it down, I told myself. Dont forget to write it down. Youll remember it as one of the best days of your life.