Stacie Sherman

My daughter and I have been enjoying the warmer weather. Walks to the park have become our little thing.

Of course they’re not your typical walks or your typical visits to the playground. But they are ours and I cherish them. We hold hands and walk, and once we get to the playground she does one walk on the balance beam, then one try on the slide or the swings. Then she goes to the bathroom, and after that she runs into the vast field of grass. When she returns to me, I try to lead her back to the playground but she pulls me onto the path toward home, where we return. This lasts all of 10-15 minutes.

She loves that open space. I don’t blame her. She is rarely able to run free. We can’t let her out of our sight. She can’t be independent. I can’t let her walk across a parking lot or even out to the car or school bus without holding her hand. I hate to compare her to a dog, but I can’t think of a better comparison. It’s like what happens when a dog in captivity is allowed off his leash. He runs and runs until he can’t run anymore. Then he returns to the safety of his home.

On our first walk of the season, I had this crazy thought. It was crazy because I’m surprised I never thought it before. I suddenly realized I don’t talk enough to my daughter. I mean, I respond to her, I instruct her, I ask her questions, I sing to/with her. But we don’t have conversations. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t talk? It’s tough. Without the responses, the back and forth, it feels almost silly.

But that day I wanted to talk to my girl. So I just started rambling. Told her all about my busy day at work, what I ate for lunch, what stories I edited. I talked about the weather and our plans for the weekend. I talked as we walked, until we reached the park. Later, I talked all the way home.

And she loved it. She looked at me as I talked. Not saying anything, of course. Not nodding at the right moments. Just staring back at me with love and smiling. I don’t know how much she understood. I just know she listened and she enjoyed hearing my voice.

The other night I was a bit cranky, as was she. I’m not sure the two things were unrelated. When she’s cranky, so am I. When I’m cranky, she usually is too. I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk, and she jumped up and headed downstairs to get her shoes.

As we walked I did not feel much like talking about the weather or work. I was annoyed at my husband over something stupid so I just started telling her the story! She is a very good listener! She didn’t interrupt, she didn’t tell me I am wrong. She smiles and looks at me when I talk to her. I told her the whole story, and I could tell she was on my side. She was just what the doctor ordered.

When we got to the sidewalk we did our usual stop at the balance beam and the slide. There was a dad there, whose two tiny kids were on the slide. I don’t blame him for being concerned when my 16-year-old, 5-foot-4 daughter bounded up the stairs.  But I was not a fan of how he handled it. He stared at her, like she was an alien. I was standing right there, he could have asked me about her. He chose to just stare with this look in his eyes like he was trying to figure out what species she was. Reminder, I was a bit cranky.  But I didn’t go postal. I just asked him what the hell he was staring at. He denied staring. I gave him my famous “don’t F with me” look and followed Brielle as she skipped to the bathroom.

As we headed back outside, I lead her onto a long path that runs around the perimeter of the park and we started walking. She was giving me a look like she wasn’t entirely happy with my change in her plan, so I took my phone out and started playing “Let It Go,” one of her recent favorites. I started singing to her and she smiled. She loves all singing, even my voice, which isn’t great. I sang, we walked, she swayed and smiled.

We made it halfway around the path before she decided to take a detour across the grass. I let her run free. Just watching her made me smile, and filled me with peace. Her happiness is the best form of therapy.