a true story about autonomy
The Sprinkler Turned On
Twenty kids scream straight through the water. Mine stops dead at the edge and just watches it.
the realization
She wasn't scared of getting wet. She just does everything on her own clock, and my "come on, it's fine" was rushing a kid who needed to figure it out first. The second I stopped pushing and watched it with her, she found her own way in.
The sprinkler kicked on and the whole park turned into a stampede. Every kid went shrieking through the water. Mia stopped dead at the edge and didn't move a muscle. Wet feet all around her, and she just stood there staring at it.
have you ever felt this way too?
I almost said the thing. Come on, it's just water. I had it half out of my mouth, that little push to hurry her along, because everyone else was already soaked and laughing and I didn't want her to be the one kid left on the grass.
But she wasn't upset. She wasn't even looking at me. Her lips were moving, quiet, like she was counting. On, off. On, off. She was watching the pattern. So I shut my mouth and crouched next to her and watched it too. I said, you see how it goes? On, then off. Twenty kids just ran through it. She had to know how it worked first.
Her eyes went wide. She figured out the rhythm, I could see it click. She rose up on her toes. And in she went, right at the exact second the water dropped, dead serious, like she'd cracked the code. Soaked in half a breath. Grinning like she owned the place.
what I found myself saying
"Okay. We don't have to go in yet. Let's just watch it a second."
"You see how it goes? On, then off. On, then off."
"Go whenever you're ready. No rush, I'm right here."
