open market
in the relatively open market of swaggering, teetering, sauntering, running bodies in royal oak at dusk today, i saw a girl with her father. unconscious, uninterested in who was seeing them, the two were walking hand-in-hand. she, about 12. he, 40-something. his yellow izod-clad belly hung lazily over his beltline. his hair unruly and lounging on his collar. the father mullet. her stringy brown hair clumped up unapologetically, her toes stretching in horrible nike-style flip-flops. bad blue skirt. totally in love. telling a story. they passed overdressed mid-lifers in mid-panic attack, sexy underdressed flaunters in mid-pout, semi-stylish middle-class mid-west americans. a site for sore eyes. such ease. such protection.
i watched them while my brain ticked back to someone my brother told me about yesterday. mildred. "i think she called me the other day," i said. "but i'm not sure - she never called me before. the connection broke and she never called back."
mildred. a beautiful girl who always, even at four years, six years, and recently at 20-something, looked to me a little more than a little overwhelmed. a girl hanging on. tough and needy. quiet quiet and on the verge. waiting for something big - or at least bigger. so sweet and so...taken. terribly taken. in. up. maybe for granted. by sixteen she became a mother. not too much longer a mother again. a beautiful and nearly unclaimed child-mother. where and with whom did she take her unconscious walks?
my brother said, "i'm tired, can't help her again. too many times crying wolf." seems mildred has been spending time with someone she would be wise not to be spending time with. the first sign came when mildred's windows got broken. the second involved a rather vicious dog. hard to know when she'll learn her lesson. and what lesson is she looking for in the lesson?
as the girl and he father, in-step with each other, passed my bench, it fell on my head: the difference: i'd bet mildred didn't have too many walks hand-in-hand with her father. not very much hand-in-hand at all. not very much ease. no protection. maybe she never demanded it. maybe it was never offered. somehow, though, she weighs in her own terms the worth of it all.
i guess no matter the open market, you'll give up with very little inducement what you have when you've never been shown the value.
i watched them while my brain ticked back to someone my brother told me about yesterday. mildred. "i think she called me the other day," i said. "but i'm not sure - she never called me before. the connection broke and she never called back."
mildred. a beautiful girl who always, even at four years, six years, and recently at 20-something, looked to me a little more than a little overwhelmed. a girl hanging on. tough and needy. quiet quiet and on the verge. waiting for something big - or at least bigger. so sweet and so...taken. terribly taken. in. up. maybe for granted. by sixteen she became a mother. not too much longer a mother again. a beautiful and nearly unclaimed child-mother. where and with whom did she take her unconscious walks?
my brother said, "i'm tired, can't help her again. too many times crying wolf." seems mildred has been spending time with someone she would be wise not to be spending time with. the first sign came when mildred's windows got broken. the second involved a rather vicious dog. hard to know when she'll learn her lesson. and what lesson is she looking for in the lesson?
as the girl and he father, in-step with each other, passed my bench, it fell on my head: the difference: i'd bet mildred didn't have too many walks hand-in-hand with her father. not very much hand-in-hand at all. not very much ease. no protection. maybe she never demanded it. maybe it was never offered. somehow, though, she weighs in her own terms the worth of it all.
i guess no matter the open market, you'll give up with very little inducement what you have when you've never been shown the value.
posted by stacy muszynski at 11:19 PM
10 Comments:
the sadness became alive in this suddenly. i missed your crisp observations.
it's true, trans. and doesn't the sadness just come alive suddenly as you watch it all go by. it sinks in, and then, sadness.
and thanks for your lovely words. they mean the world. -stacy
excellent Father's Day post. Well said.
funny how it all works out, eh, edgy...
There is so much truth in this.
hi, bec. when my back nad front don't hurt and when i can pick my head off the desk i'll be better able to respond...nice to meet you. come in come in. welcome to my home...
i appreciate you sharing this. you and your writing are beautiful, as always.
"i guess no matter the open market, you'll give up with very little inducement what you have when you've never been shown the value."
You are so very wise. I am starting to learn my value.
its a sad thing eh? how some of us learned to see value. cuz if youve never been loved accepted held cared for - its awful hard to learn that your deservin of those things. and then i guess we kinda bargain shop huh? :/
better to come home with somethin - even if its used and banged up. even if it spews smoke and gives us splinters. cuz thats the other thing we're taught yeah?
not participatin in market is the worst thing of all. and sellin yourself short means someone at least was willin to buy :/
maybe in the trading we learn our trade... and we hope, at least i do, that those who do love us love us really really well so we keep onna goin...
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