…The Downtown 1 Train To Rector St. NY, NY.

It’s strange when you find yourself reminded of your parents—in yourself.

This morning, I’m knocking on Lily’s door at 6:15 in the morning (mind you, I don’t have to be up for work for another 2 hours, but it’s been many years since that’s mattered) and I get her “grrri’m upppp” which I know means I’ll be back in 5 minutes banging on the door again… and then, when all else fails I’ll resort to some sort of annoying carrying her out of bed to the breakfast table. Now… I personally know she enjoys this, but she’s slipping into the teenage angst finally, and it may no longer be cute when daddy carries you down the stairs kicking and screaming that you don’t want to go to school.

I wonder if the other kids know this side of her. I’m sure she shows a cool calm face to her little student government friends… christ. Reminiscent of her mother. I don’t think she inherited that side from me… that stoic face she makes when she’s listening… like a pure, unimpeded ear, listening to your thoughts and worries. I was always the one who’s face could be read from miles away. It’s probably better this way. Kids should learn to keep some secrets.

I’m reminded of my mother, though, in waking up my daughter… it’s kind of surprising that I forgot how she used to wake me. I didn’t even wake to the banging on the door, it was the sound of the footsteps creaking the boards beneath the hallway carpet that kicked me conscious moments before she arrived. I remember sometimes answering her knock before it came… because it was such a harsh sound that, if I could somehow avoid it, my morning could, perhaps, be slightly better. More smooth. “I’m awake! I’m awake!”
“Okay… but if I have to come back in 5 minutes, I’m carrying you out of there by your toes.”
“Ughhhhhhhh.”

I don’t know yet how I feel about the comparison.

That’s all for now.

-e.-