secondhand strength
July 12, 2013 § 2 Comments
Unpacking our cramped suitcases I keep marveling at pieces of remembrance tucked in the folds of clothing. Keepsakes that are empty artifacts without the weight of memories. My favorite moment unfolded on the second day of our drive as we detoured from our original itinerary to visit a homestead dedicated to preserving pieces of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s stories.
Wearing a borrowed apron and perched eagerly on an antique desk, I watched my daughter from the bench at the back of the one-room schoolhouse. Listening intently to the teacher’s thoughtful presentation of prairie life for students of days long past my daughter leaned into the words. In a room freckled with strangers the teacher then directed her attention to my little girl inviting her to portray Laura. Back straight, pride resonating in her poise, my daughter’s joy was underscored in the lines of her body.
Then, with a simple request, we traversed an old journey in postures I translated in tones of fear and strength. Laura, would you please read to the class. My daughter’s back bent, curving into a delicate rest for her chin; a safe haven from the watchful gaze of others. Slowly she raised her chin into a forced gesture of bravery, rolling her shoulders back into a framework of fortitude. I’m sure you are a good reader. One careful foot placed in a determined step my Laura moved from doubt to intent. Cradling the book she sought her place among the unfamiliar text. Then, she read aloud. With each word I felt my daughter’s strength – secondhand.
There was no greater moment, no more meaningful exercise so far from our daily lives. As my daughter found her way to the last strand of prose, I exchanged celebratory smiles with my husband and silent applause when my daughter’s eyes found mine. Without the adulation of other’s, these quiet victories clamor loudly across years of frustration.
To unknowing eyes the photograph of my daughter’s head bent over a book is a memento reproduced with each wave of tourists traveling through time. For me the image is riddled with a language of love and knowing that weights it in a strength we will borrow from long after we returned home. A keepsake with a story not entirely my own that represents our past and present.
scribblechic 
As a reader your prose is exquisite… as a photographer the way you write brings up so many visuals and past family experiences… many thanks for that!!!!
I couldn’t ask for higher praise. Thank you.