invisible ink
April 17, 2013 § 2 Comments
A simple apology in my daughter’s hand, written on the bathroom mirror. Stepping out of the shower I uncovered a humble message hidden in the folds of steam: I love you. Sorry mommy.
She had forgotten to turn on the bathroom fan and was worried about the bathroom her father built, understanding the importance of caring for the space of our home. Old enough to be a part of the care of our rooms, her mistake was less important than her budding awareness of responsibility.
I suppose the greatest lesson in the language of apologies isn’t just finding the words, but how we craft our message. Sometimes the most sincere apology comes quietly, sincerity and humility punctuating words all to often generically recycled and empty.
My husband and I tell both children, Sorry means I will not do it again. The apology marks a moment of awareness and conscious choice. Reading my daughter’s words I acknowledged that sometimes it is enough to know they were listening, storing a new lesson for another time.
It’s a big step from saying you’re sorry in order to escape the consequences of your actions and apologizing because you feel genuine remorse. I think it signifies the ability to put yourself in another person’s place, and at least try to imagine how they feel. Where would we be without that? You must have been proud of her.
Her message is happily cluttering my bathroom mirror, little girl hearts and mismatched letters greeting me after every shower.