We just got home from a two-week trip to California. We managed to make it to two family reunions, celebrate our son’s 25th birthday – and relax a little bit.
One of our stops was with Lenny’s cousin, Linda, in Placerville between Tahoe and Sacramento. Linda’s nine-year-old granddaughter, Zoe, was visiting from the East Coast where her dad, Lenny’s godson Danny, is stationed in the Army. Zoe missed her mom, dad and big brother, but at the same time, she was happy to be the only kid around. It was a big trip for a little girl.
I sat with her in the back seat of Linda’s car a few times, and I had forgotten how much fun a young lady of this age could be. Zoe told me about everything in her life: what she liked to read, her pets, her friends, and her friends’ pets.
Whenever she wanted to seem grown-up, she claimed that she was almost 10 years-old! In the same sentence she could be serious and silly. She asked endless questions about if “Uncle” Lenny was famous, and if people ever recognized us when we were in public. I cut and styled her hair, although I only snipped a tiny bit off a fuscia-colored extension in her copper red hair. She thought I was so talented!
However, in order to be part of the adults’ conversation, I found myself holding up my index finger to indicate that others were talking. It made me think back to elementary school days when they used to teach us something called “poise.”
I asked her if she knew that word, and she shook her head. I told her it had to do with how you carry yourself, having composure, not being fake or embarrassed.
I remember that I always thought about this when I went to the front of the church to receive communion. Thoughts of the sacrifice of Christ were often crowded out of my young mind as I concentrated on walking without tripping, keeping the little lace chapel cap on my head, and wondering if any boy, or any body at all was looking at me. How clearly I could recall the mind of a nine-year-old!
I told Zoe that “poise” also meant having balance in your life. It was important to know when to speak and when NOT to speak. She listened to me carefully, and said in a small voice, “but I’m only nine years old!”
When she was flying home her dad posted on Facebook, “My little vuvuzela is coming home!” Well, Danny, she is a bright little penny, and much better to have around than a vuvuzela! Enjoy it now, because in a few short years she might be a teenager with poise, and might barely speak to you at all!
Patty Luzzi has lived on the Eastside for 33 years. Readers can contact her at pattyluzzi@yahoo.com.
