Playing Grown-Up

The day before Halloween, I had a date with my friend Miranda that was less a rendezvous for grown-up discourse and more an afternoon of children's board games with her brilliant daughter Allison, age 5.

We meandered through Candyland as "Dora" (Allison) and "Backpack" (me) and we braved the perils of a garden, paying aphids to grasshoppers to secure our safety. After game pieces were put back in plastic pouches and paper trails were folded and returned to their cardboard homes, Allison and I went for a walk. When asked if her parents should join us, she firmly responded, "No."

Off we went on a real adventure, our path cut into spaces by scores in the sidewalk. At first, Allison danced down the street as I kept steady time with steps that were decidedly adult. She expended a child's energy with arms flailing and legs kicked at unnecessary angles. She swung her body to and fro but eventually settled into a more uniform pattern.

As we moved under the shade of trees down the quiet neighborhood, I asked her if I could ask her a question. In doing this, I wanted to gauge her ability and desire to answer. To my relief, she said yes. I really did have questions for her. Life questions. Questions usually posed to individuals whose answers I never believe for more than a day. I knew that Allison would share her knee-high views on whatever topics I could muster.

"Allison, what do you do if a boy doesn't love you?" Had I really focused, I could have brought myself to tears at this point for effect. She took a step and continued our walk without so much as a moment's consideration.

"You walk away and you don't play with him forever." Ah, yes.

"And what do you do if he does love you?"

"You play with him forever." Her answers fluttered out so naturally.

"How do you find happiness?"

"You just be nice and friendly and then you will be happy!"

"What do you do with a broken heart?"

"Um...you go to the doctor?" She was quizzical like a girl who's never had one. And I hope she never will.

The questions ended when she seemed to grow weary of my stupidity. We walked around a corner and I gave her a short piggy-back ride. As we headed back to the house, we played a spelling game using the objects around us like grass and trees for inspiration. All the while, my heart memorizing her sagacity in pulses and chants.

For Halloween, I dressed up like a schoolgirl in a uniform and pigtails. An homage to the 5 year-old who may only know a limited number of facts but who has the pristine problem solving skills that have never been marred by overthinking, romantic comedies or mixed drinks. She has the perfect heart, full of faith and unencumbered clarity. Her answers were faultless and exact and one day, I'll be young enough to know what she meant by them.