It’s strange what can make you wistful. By “you”, of course, I mean “me” but I’m trying to be inclusive here. One moment, you are going 50 miles per hour in the bow of a speedboat, a gaggle of laughing children around you and you can’t help but laugh too because you have never seen anything funnier than children’s cheeks flapping in the wind while they sing Scooby Dooby Doo at the top of their lungs. The next moment, you are crying - not because of the 50 mile per hour wind and bugs in your eyes but because of a big ol’ wave of nostalgia that drags you out of the moment. You remember another boat and other people laughing and as your mind is perusing that other speedboat – the speedboat in a past life – your eyes finally land on the driver of that boat. The driver just happens to be your father and he is smiling and laughing his deep and subtle laugh that rumbles and resonates in your chest. In that moment, you realize that your father is one of the few people in life that made you feel really safe and you start to cry because
you are going to lose him very soon. Then, just like that, you hear the children screaming again, screaming because waves are so incredible and because speed and Scooby Doo are so darn funny. You are back in the moment and can laugh again. You wrap your arms around those children and you sing along and the moment is somehow sweeter.
It’s strange what can make you wistful. By “you”, of course, I mean “me” but I’m trying to be inclusive here. One moment, you are going 50 miles per hour in the bow of a speedboat, a gaggle of laughing children around you and you can’t help but laugh too because you have never seen anything funnier than children’s cheeks flapping in the wind while they sing Scooby Dooby Doo at the top of their lungs. The next moment, you are crying - not because of the 50 mile per hour wind and bugs in your eyes but because of a big ol’ wave of nostalgia that drags you out of the moment. You remember another boat and other people laughing and as your mind is perusing that other speedboat – the speedboat in a past life – your eyes finally land on the driver of that boat. The driver just happens to be your father and he is smiling and laughing his deep and subtle laugh that rumbles and resonates in your chest. In that moment, you realize that your father is one of the few people in life that made you feel really safe and you start to cry because 
you are going to lose him very soon. Then, just like that, you hear the children screaming again, screaming because waves are so incredible and because speed and Scooby Doo are so darn funny. You are back in the moment and can laugh again. You wrap your arms around those children and you sing along and the moment is somehow sweeter.
5 comments:
that's beautiful, vikki. very beautiful. i'm not surprised to hear that you felt this way.
Does having kids make you appreciate your own parents more? Sometimes I fear what ghosts of my childhood might be elicited by having kids of my own.
I don't know if I appreciate my parents more. I understand my mother's struggles a bit more, I guess. I do think that having kids brings unfinished childhood business to the surface, though.
That's really beautiful.
I find that it's in the most joyous moments that also feel a twinge of sadness -- sometime nostalgia, sometimes a wistful feeling that things could always be so good.
Love the boat pictures.
(Came to you through Close Second)
Funny how quiet little moments can bring forth so much emotion, isn't it?
That was a beautiful post.
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