20190810.0430

Today, my nephew, the stone-cutter, has his birthday. He marks being a year old, and the family and many of his parents' friends will be gathering in the Alamo City to celebrate the occasion. I've no doubt that it will be documented thoroughly by many people, so I feel safe in relaxing my tendency to stand aside and watch to record later in words scrawled badly in my thin pen-hand on pages to which I insufficiently attend. I can celebrate with my nephew, watch as my daughter, Ms. 8, who greatly loves her cousin, exults in the celebration, as well, though I confess to some concern that she, being also young, will be somewhat put out that she is not the focus of the day, as she so often has been.
I wonder if she will grow up with the memory of having been not the first, but the only. I wonder if she will remember when she was the sole focus of her parents' love and her grandparents'--because she was, even as recently as a year ago and a day. My wife remembers being four, though I do not, and I think Ms. 8 is not a stupid person. Far from it; young as she is and sheltered from as much--and I do not account it to my shame that she has not been exposed to so many things as I have known others at her age to have been--she takes in all she sees and hears and smells and tastes and feels, and her mind works deftly upon it.
But that Ms. 8 is no fool does not mean she will remember in days to come what she has done this day; again, I do not, and I like to flatter myself that my mind works well. And I recall how it felt to be the only, to have the undivided attention of the people in my life whom I love and who love me, though for deeds and places my memory runs into a barrier stronger than any wall well after I turned six. I have the sneaking sensation that it has poisoned me in ways I cannot see, being inside them or having them behind me; I do not doubt that they whisper in my ear, though softly enough that I do not mark the words they would say to me.
I hope that Ms. 8 will not have such things to struggle against, though I fear that she already does. She is strong enough to face most any challenge already, and she will grow stronger in time; I have no doubt of her eventual victory. But that I believe she has the strength does not mean I relish thoughts of her having to test that strength. As many of my failings as I can prevent her from having, I would. Today, I will see if one of them has touched her in ways I would not have it do. I will work to correct it if it has; I will work to prevent it if it has not. And I will wish my nephew happiness, either way, today and in the years to come.