I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
June 8, 2009
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“Are you scared?” I asked my five-year-old daughter as we sat huddled together in the plastic car of an ominous-looking amusement park ride.
“No,” she replied. She nestled closer to me, and I hugged her, smiling to hide my nervousness. She had spent the morning on the kiddie rides at Holiday World, and had proclaimed herself ready for something with a little more oomph. Now, though, I wondered if this particular ride was more than she had bargained for.
Paul Revere’s Midnight Ride was a speedy, swirling, up-and-down extravaganza that had the power to make grown men shriek with fear. My little pixie was small and sweetly sensitive and timid in physical situations, yet she also displayed mental toughness and physical endurance at times that floored me. Which side of her would come out during this ride? Would she discover the same love her father and I share for controlled danger? Or would she be reduced to a whimpering bundle of fear?
Suddenly, the ride began and our little car was tossed up into the air. Up and down and around and around we went at high speed. “Are you okay?” I shouted to her as soon as I was able to catch my breath.
“It’s just that…” she gasped. I looked over at her. Her eyes were wide with fright. “I don’t think I can breathe!”
As the car spun I held her closer. “Don’t be afraid,” I told her. “This ride makes you think you can’t breathe, but you can!” She sputtered. “Take deep breaths,” I instructed. “Make yourself take deep breaths.” I continued talking to her calmly until the ride began to slow down. As soon as that happened, she lifted her head from my shoulder and giggled.
“Mommy!” she shouted exuberantly. “I’m not scared anymore!”
“Good!” I told her, breathing a huge sigh of relief. The ride stopped and we climbed out. As we headed back to a restaurant to meet the rest of our family, we held hands.
“Punky, I am so proud of you,” I told her. “You rode on a really scary ride and you did great. I couldn’t believe how brave you were!” She beamed.
“So, which ride was your favorite?” I asked her.
“The Midnight Ride,” she said, grinning proudly.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think it was too scary?”
“I believe you don’t have to really be scared on a ride,” she said importantly, “not when your mommy is sitting right beside you. Because your mommy won’t let anything bad happen to you.” She looked up at me, smiling and shy and a little embarrassed.
I could feel my heart expand in my chest. I clutched Punky’s hand more tightly, and fought back the tears that came to my eyes.
I have this girl’s heart, I thought to myself. I have this precious, beautiful girl’s heart, and no one else has it but me.
Punky has always been my girl. She has always wanted no one but me, and sometimes, I have to admit, I feel suffocated by the intensity of her devotion. Lately, I’ve had so much going on that at times her constant requests for me to snuggle with her and play games with her and read to her and sing with her have been hard to meet. I snap at her more than I should. I say ‘no’ more than I should. I have not been a bad mother by any means, but if I’m honest with myself, over the last few months, I could have been better.
As we drove home from the amusement park late that afternoon and Punky dozed happily in her booster seat behind me, I thought about the emotions stirred up by that day. I felt unworthy to be the keeper of my daughter’s heart. I felt fear that I would open my heart to hers completely, only to pay for it later when she became a teenager and suddenly wanted nothing to do with me.
And I decided to put all my fears and doubts aside.
I am going to be a better mother, I whispered as the sun set in the distance. I am going to be deserving of my daughter’s adoration. Punky had made me her hero. Me. Now it was time to live up to that status.
And I am so thankful I’ve figured this out before it’s too late.
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