So there is a picture quote on facebook that is circulating that has been cracking me up.
You can see it here.
Basically the top is a picture of the little boy from the Sixth Sense looking all nervous and cry-y. It says “I see dead people.” Below is a picture of the boy (Carl) from The Walking Dead, complete with his dad’s hat and funny little half smile.
The bottom says “BITCH, PLEASE”
Are you laughing? Because I find it hysterical. It keeps making me laugh–for a number of reasons: Because I really like The Walking Dead, because we are so lucky to live in a time of great stories and complex characters. I also like it because it is sometimes what passes through my head when I hear a parent complaining about colds or “reflux” or how difficult their kids are (I know, I’m a total asshole)…or when Meredith Grey saying “I’m 29 weeks and worried about DiGeorges Syndrome.” (And, yes, I do watch Grey’s Anatomy AND The Walking Dead).
But that isn’t what I wanted to write about today–now that you are all totally judging me.
Why I wanted to write about this is because that picture makes me think about the inner resources that children have, resources we often don’t give them credit for–or give them a chance to explore. Kids, especially these days, can be so sheltered from every thing: adventuring in the outdoors, social problem-solving, learning discipline and restraint. Growing up in the country I had free-reign of the our land (except in hunting season). I climbed (and got stuck) up a tree at 18 months. I skinned my knees and cried and my Dad (who is an amazing parent BTW) told me: “It builds character.” I was shown how to use some power tools, how to cut with an exacto knife, and all sorts of other good stuff when I was under six or seven. It was AMAZING. And I was WAY more sheltered than kids of previous generations who might have learned how to use an exacto with zero guidance.
Given free reign in some areas, I also knew limits…and listened (relatively) well. I was permitted the right to learn independence and discipline.
The picture of Carl makes me think of Ezzy. Like Carl everyday she does the equivalent of kicking zombie butt…the impossible and the frightening. Like Carl there is no option for her to be sheltered from the fact that life is really difficult and dangerous. And she takes that in stride and still manages to be a happy, funny, goofy, sweet–and super tough–kiddo.
Admittedly, the fact that there is so much I cannot protect Ez from has turned me into a bit of an overprotective maman. Some of it–like my obsessive researching and documenting–is warranted. Some of it, however, is not. Increasing Ezzy seems to realize when I am being overprotective: pulling the large piano toy that she likes to hold over her head away from her or trying to show her how to play with a toy.
She does not like it.
I find the picture above funny most of all because it makes me think of how Ezzy must look at me sometimes–me worried about her dealing with her peers, her breathing, her bumps and bruises, her scars–and think (lovingly, of course):
BITCH, PLEASE.