To our Tulip

Dear Sweetie,

         It’s raining outside and you are watching it from the window. You watch as the drops rain down the pane, absorbing into one another. Your fingers tracing them leaving little peanut butter smears. You turn, delighted with your picture, showing me the globs on the window. I smile and blow you a kiss. You stop what you’re doing than. You bring both index fingers to your mouth and blow me our special kiss. One I taught you when you were so little. I was so proud of you. You mimicked me exactly and to this day you still remember it as ours. 

         Sweetie, life hasn’t been easy for you. You have had to get shots and surgeries. You have had to go to Doctors far away. You have had to go into scary rooms without Momma or Dad and you have done it beautifully. You have been brave and strong. You cry out but you go. Someone once said that "Courage isn't the absence of fear. It is doing what you are afraid to do.” Sweetie, you are courage. 

          When you were born, I was in Bulgaria. I was so far from my sister and I was so scared for her and for you. We knew that you would be different. The doctors had wanted your Momma and Daddy to give you up. They wouldn’t. You were so beautiful to them. The doctors said you might have hoofed feet and when they were wrong, your Aunties bought your Momma some pretty little girl shoes for you. Sweetie, those doctors were so wrong. They were measuring life by their standard not God’s. If those doctors could see you today, they would be ashamed. They would watch you walk on your perfect feet. They would see you play with your brothers and cousins. They would watch as you snuggled up to be read a book or watch a movie. Perfectly created by a perfect God. When I finally got to Skype and see your face, I cried. I cried because you were here and your Momma was safe. I cried because I couldn’t be there to welcome you to our family. I cried because of all the babies who weren’t brought into the world by their parents but were given up to a horrible fate. I cried because I was worried about you and what your life might be like. Sweetie, I don’t cry anymore for you. Everyday I thank God that you are you and no one else. You are so beautiful and God has everything in His hands. When you learn to read, we will rejoice. When you play your first soccer game, I will be there to watch. These are not ifs but whens. Because you are courageous and you won’t give up. I am so proud of you, Sweetie. I love you.

Wiffle Ball

      My summers were spent in the one hundred percent humidity of Elkton, Maryland. Sweating was living and No-See-Ums dotted your skin. My head was surrounded by fly catchers and my feet were black bottomed. Summers were crabs and hotdogs that my Poppop burnt, the sea and corn on the cob, catching fireflies and homemade ice cream, and wiffle ball. 

I come from a large family of seven kids. My parents, also both come from large families and the result of all of this family was cousins. I grew up surrounded by playmates. People who weren’t brothers and sisters but who also weren’t just family friends. It was a different bond. For four weeks out of the summer, our cousins would descend upon my Nanny’s house. Fresh from Bulgaria, they would arrive. We spent every day together in those four weeks. Swimming and playing on my Nanny’s old Nintendo from the 80’s. Mastering levels of Mario 3, that no longer were considered by most of the world. But when Paigie and Brooker beat level 8, for the first time,defeating King Koopa and his cohorts, we hooped and hollered it up in that small back bedroom on Winding Way. 

But most of our days were spent on the diamond that we created. Down below the pool but right before the woods was grass. Left field was always suspiciously wet and many a rumor was spoken about how that was where the sewage pipe drained. The old tree that we used for home still stands and the grass, worn out by little feet, marks our home plate. We spent most of the day on that field, divided by teams. If you weren’t on the same team, than you weren’t friendly. You were focused on winning and being the wiffle ball champs for the day. You ragged on your favorite cousin, hoping he would pop out to you in left field. You taunted the pitcher, the batter, the runner at every opportunity. We weren’t “playing” a game. As a family, we were too competitive. We were going to win. I have one distinct memory as a 12 year old going through a hitting slump in wiffle ball and in my softball career. I couldn't "swing my way out of a wet paper bag". Two of my little cousins realized this and ribbed me hard and I got so mad I walked off. Our wiffle ball jeers never followed us off the field though. When the game was threw, we all ran and jumped in the pool and that was that. No more angry tones or sarcastic jibs. We dunked each other, toweled off, and ate dinner to the winking of the fireflies in our woods.

       One epic game stands out in my memory. A game that marked the end of something. My cousin Will and I were going off to school and I feel like all of us knew that somehow it wouldn’t be the same. Once you go to college, you don’t always come home for summers. We all knew this. We had seen it in our older cousins long ago. Once you graduated, you stopped playing. Well this game, this game was by far the most competitive I’ve played. Will and I were on opposite teams and as the oldest cousins, we felt the need to keep the peace. Not this one. We argued over foul balls and “doinkers”. Everyone was on edge. The game stood 6-7 and my team was down. Jordan was on first and I was up with one out. I lined it out to left trying to get it beyond Willy. He chased it up the hill and with one hand snatched it from the air. Jordan tagged up and was on his way to third when Will pegged him and the game was over. We had lost. I still feel that bewilderment at our loss. We were a sure win holding most of the power hitters and the speed. I watched as everyone ran up the hill and into the pool. Something was over but no one seemed to notice. Except Will. He walked over to me and without saying a word threw his arm around my neck and walked with me up the hill.  

I made myself a promise that night. I would never stop playing. Even after I left for school, I would play. If there were cousins around, we would play. It didn’t matter that some were gone. We would continue on as if they were there. Even after all of these years, when I see my cousins, we set up a diamond with old catching gear and flip flops.We manage to scrounge up a wiffle ball and some duct tape and we play. We play until the ball is invisible and the air has cooled. I hear the jabs of cousins, taunts and nicknames from long ago: Boomer, DeadlyJedly, ElBell, Princess, Beb. Cousins, who are now soldiers, fathers, nurses,moms, playing long into the night, into the darkness broken up by car lights shining onto our makeshift diamond. And, I  can still taste the charcoaled hotdogs and the watermelon dripping down my chin.

~To Brooker, ChillyWilly, Bradle, Ellbell, Drewbs,Jordo, Jerm, Taybaybay, Cakes, 
Princess, Joshka, Bunga, Dookie,

Carlos, Jedly,Smooch, Gench, CaseyBrooke, Ddub, 

Pig, Beb, and Jonnyboy,

I owe all of my Summers to you.