Anne always had a habit which annoyed me to no end; every time we would go out to eat, she would ask me if I wanted to “join the sharers club.” She always wanted to share whatever we each ordered; I, on the other hand, never wanted to share. Call it miserly, greedy, thrifty —I was, after all, a single woman living alone and pinching pennies in a very expensive city— but I really got annoyed. Anne never took it personally though. She would simply smile and say, “Aw, sweetie, you don’t know what you’re missing. One day you’ll realize the joy of sharing.”
Amid the clatter of emptying the dishwasher —Nik’s laughter echoing through the playroom and into the kitchen— I hear the sound of uneven footsteps and the banging of a heavy object as it bounces along the floor. I turn to see Nik dragging one of his new toys over to the kitchen gate. As he hoists his little cash register toy up over his head, I fly to the gate to keep the toy from crashing to the floor. Nik stops mid-toss and laughs. “Are you all done, buddy? Do you want Mommy to take your toy?” I should know better than to ask a question like that; Nik doesn’t have the communication skills to answer such a query.
I take the toy from him and begin to place it on the armoire near the telephone —still in sight but safely out of reach. Nik begins to vocalize something and gestures at the same time —tapping the fingertips of his right hand into the palm of his left as if he’s making a “Tee.” My eyes widen in surprise. Am I seeing what I think or is it just a coincidence? I’ve seen Nik do that gesture before but assumed he was just copying the video and didn’t really understand the concept.
“Sweetie, do you want to share the toy with Mommy? Is that what you want? You want to play with Mommy?” Nik emphatically begins to pat his palm against his chest —his universal sign for “Yes, please. I really want it.” How could I possibly resist such an entreaty? Picking the toy up from its high perch, I carry it to the sofa and ask Nik to join me. He squeals as he races to the sofa and settles in so close to me that I have to put my arm around him so I don’t accidentally elbow him in the face as we play.
For fifteen minutes we share. We take turns and sing songs. Nik makes free with his kisses —a rare treat lately since he’s becoming such a Daddy’s boy. When he’s had enough, Nik signals to me that we are finished playing by picking up the toy and placing it in my hands. With one final kiss, he slides off the sofa in search of new entertainment. I sit dumbfounded.
Though I’ve not thought of her in a long time, Anne’s image comes to mind. I smile and realize I now understand her gentle words of many years ago. As usual, she was right.