Code Switch

I read Molly Shield’s post this morning. A beautiful slice of life that involves code switching, something I do quite a bit. Being the daughter and then being the parent, and back again. Where do I belong?

Saturday morning, it is 1:20 am. I am loading my daughter with crutches, her friend and their luggage into my car. It’s not an emergency. This is a planned trip to meet up with over 200 high schoolers who are going by bus up the coast to a YMCA-sponsored Youth and Government camp. The streets are surprisingly busy. I think, could all these people be taking their high schoolers to Albertson’s, the designated drop off spot.

We pull into the lot; it is difficult to find a space. Picture this rather zombiesque moment: masses of youth, their luggage, followed by sleepy disheveled parents. All trudging toward the waiting buses.

I find a spot up close. In my opinion (and in every other sane parent’s opinion), this child should stay home. She’s still fragile after knee surgery, on crutches and has missed a day and a half of school due to a cold. She has no business (as my mother would say) going.

I have already mapped out in my mind the most likely scenario when she returns: sicker, more school lost, getting behind in classes, up late trying to catch up, all coinciding with a relapse in progress made in her knee rehab efforts. Doom and gloom.

But she’s determined. It will take severe pain or delusion-invoking fever to stop my daughter. I know this inside and out and there is no stopping it. I am this person. I moderate only when stronger forces prevail.

I open the trunk. Pull out the bags, pillows, and blankets they have packed for the ride. She calls a 17-year old young man over to help with the bags. He’s our neighbor. I’ve seen him grow up. Love that kid.

I say, “Have a good time; call us if you need anything.”

She says, “Ok bye.”

“Love you,” I call out.

They come home tonight. I fear the possibilities, but at the same time (code switch for a moment) I am hopeful that she’s as strong as she thinks she is and will “be fine.”

***

The second part of my post is my attempt at erasure poetry demonstrated beautifully by Dana Murphy in her most recent post.  Poetry is a scary thing for me. In my mind it takes an otherworldly kind of craftsmanship. But in this attempt, it feels like a personal journey to finding more in my own writing. This feels less risky. I’m not calling myself a poet or this a poem, I’m just digging into my writing a little more than before to see what’s there.

Code Switch

Being the daughter
being the parent
and back again.

Where do I belong? 

It’s difficult to find a space.
Youth followed by sleepy disheveled parents.
All trudging toward the waiting buses.

I find a spot up close.

This child should stay home,
she’s still fragile.
She has no business going.

But she’s determined, 

I know this
inside and out.
There is no stopping it.

I am this.

It moderates only
when stronger forces prevail.
“Have a good time, call us if you need anything”

Love you.

I fear the possibilities, but at the same time, 
–code switch–
I am hopeful.

She’s as strong as she thinks and will “be fine.”