It was Saturday, my pool day. I had finished my workout and was leaving just as people started to arrive for family swim time. When I got to the changing area of the locker room I heard a voice, high-pitched and enthusiastic, say “hi!.” and then I felt two arms encircling my legs.
Startled, I looked down and saw a child looking up at me. She had black hair, big eyes, long eyelashes, and a wide smile. In that moment, the people in the background faded away, and all the locker room noise was drowned out, the hum of the hair dryers, the hissing of the showers, the chatter of the women. All my attention focused on this child. I bent down and said, “Hi! You have a nice swim, OK?”
Having been acknowledged, she giggled and ran off to go with her mother and was gone before I could say what I wished I had said. “Thanks so much. I really needed that. I haven’t had a hug in a long time. Sometimes I feel invisible and it’s so nice to be noticed.”
Walking to the car, I found myself smiling broadly which is something I rarely do. Despite it being a cold, cloudy day, I was warmed by the gesture of this child. I was surprised at how unexpected it was, how it touched me, and how I got what I didn’t know I needed. I was especially surprised that I received this gift from a child.
The thing is I’m not very comfortable with kids. I’m not around them very much and I don’t seek them out. I was not one of those women who always wanted children. I made up my mind when I was very young that I wouldn’t have any. Watching how my mom struggled being a single parent with 5 kids, 4 boys and me, the only girl and the oldest, I decided that the noise, chaos, and despair I lived through growing up was not for me. When I got older, I would proudly proclaim to friends that “having a dog is the closest thing I’ll ever get to motherhood.”
But every now and then I see a child like this one and wonder what I missed out on. For a moment, I can imagine a life with a stable family, children, happiness, fun. Then just as quickly as the perfect family images appear, they go out of my mind.
In that girl, I saw glimmers of myself as a child. I flashed back to a picture I have of me, age 5 or so, sitting on top an old black and white TV, legs extended, wearing saddle shoes, smiling mischievously, naturally curly hair in full display. That child looked sassy and open to conversation with anyone.
What happened to that spirit? I used to be like the child at the pool.
As I grew older, I never wanted to stand out or be in the spotlight. When I got recognition for good grades or an activity, I brushed it off. I didn’t want anyone to make a fuss. Fearful of saying the wrong thing or looking stupid, I took the “only speak when spoken to” credo to heart and have carried it into adulthood despite knowing that it doesn’t serve me well. I preferred being in the background. So, you’d think that since I prized invisibility when I was young, I’d appreciate feeling that way now that I’m older. But I don’t.
When I was younger, wanting to appear invisible was a choice. But these days, it’s not a choice and I find that any time I am seen, I welcome it.
This girl saw me, and I like to think she chose me because she sensed that I needed what was so easy for her to give-acknowledgement and affection.
I wanted to honor the memory of this girl who left such an impression on me, so I gave her a name, Cora. I didn’t want to keep referring to her as the “child I met in the pool that time who unexpectedly hugged me.” When I feel like I’m invisible or need to experience the joy and openness of a child, I can think of Cora and her sweet smile.
Cora reminded me of the importance and joy of connecting. Since I met her, I try to follow her example and say “hi” and smile at strangers. My greeting may not be as enthusiastic as hers but it’s still effective and I find that most people smile or say hello back. If I don’t get a response or feel that someone is being halfhearted, I don’t dwell on it as a failed attempt as I have done in the past.
I’ve discovered that the simple act of reaching out first to someone is enormously satisfying. If I stretch myself, I ask the person’s name if I run into them more than once or twice,
All this sounds so basic but somewhere along the line, I didn’t learn this simple lesson of connecting because I was so fearful of being judged. I eventually had to ask myself, “You mean I could have been doing this my whole life?” I flashed back to all the missed opportunities for making the connections in the past and had to force myself to stop, remembering that adage “When you know better, you do better.”
Looking back, I was closed off, waiting to be awakened and Cora’s youthful impetuousness gave me an example of how I could be in the world. I probably won’t be wrapping my arms around strangers’ legs to get attention. But I do try to say hello or smile. You never know when someone is feeling invisible and will be glad to be seen.
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