Art, yes; tattoos, oh no

Original typing by SKZ      Dec. 12, 2012

   One of the great and vastly understated joys of being a parent (of a 5 year old; I won't get ahead of myself) is sharing the creative experience all over again.
   Watching my daughter this past year takes me back to the time I was her age: a time of unbridled creativity.
   You take a song you've known for a couple of years triggered by a cartoon or visual stimulation, add characters that are handy (a stuffed toy, an empty paper towel core) and make up a story on the spot.
   All the synapses are firing because your mom is there, your dad is there, you are safe, secure, satiated; anything is imaginable because possibilities are endless. There is no death.
   There is only the joy of creating a story or drawing a picture that allows intuitive spontaneity to come gushing forth.
   What happens to a parent is an overwhelming connection to the child and reconnection with your childhood — joy begets more joy.
   No one who is not a parent will understand this.
   It is an amazing spiritual connection, a greater understanding of oneself through understanding the child.
   And then you think of how precious this gift is, how you want to nurture and protect it forever.
   I think of how I'll do everything in my power to shield her from tattoos, drugs, Paul McCartney lyrics, alcohol, bad boys, broken hearts and the Kardashians (pornographic profiteers, not Armenians).
   But she's going to live her own life and is (and has been) already making preferential decisions that shape her values and limits.