I knew a toddler once who loved to go through the car wash. Something about sitting in the car as it moved slowly through the soapy water, watching the brushes whirr around and the big strips of fabric sway back and forth across the windshield comforted or excited her. It got so that every time she rode in the car she called out from the back seat, "Cah wash, mommy, cah wash!" And if they weren't in any particular hurry, her mom would often oblige.
I think about the scene in The Sweet Hereafter when the character played by Ian Holm gets stuck in the car wash. It's late at night, it's dark, his car isn't moving, the car wash is running, he eventually decides to just get out of the car amidst the chaos. Of course he gets completely soaked. His daughter is addicted to drugs and calls him from time to time, desperate and sobbing. He's been through it so many times before that he doesn't let himself get too caught up in her drama, but it breaks his heart, his inability to do anything to help her. He's completely powerless as she destroys her life.
Hijo recently won first prize at the art fair for 4th graders in his school. He led me through the halls to the place where his class had hung their work. He scanned the wall, looking for his piece. "It's not there!" he said. "Are you sure?" I asked him. "Yes! It was right there," he told me, pointing to a spot up high. We looked around a bit, and I wondered aloud if there might be another wall for 4th graders somewhere. Had someone taken it down? But why? Hijo was getting a bit worried (as was I). We walked some more until we came to the prize wall where the work that had been chosen for each grade level was hung. And there was Hijo's piece next to a big blue ribbon. They will frame it and keep it at the school to show at the art fair each year.
What a great kid, I think. I'm lucky. When things go particularly well for Hijo, I tend to give him the credit. When he stumbles, I usually think it's my fault, my bad parenting. But that isn't fair. I know it's a complicated brew, the things that make Hijo who he is. As he grows, my ability to affect his life will lessen. He might break my heart. Every time he leaves the house to go to school, I feel that sense of letting go, and a bit of panic rushes through my veins. Let him be OK, let him be OK, I whisper. Of course he'll be OK another part of me asserts. Of course.
Of course, I don't know what will happen to him, what choices he will make. I don't know what he might do to make me feel powerless or proud. All I have is that boy on the couch insisting that now is the time to be tickled. "Cah wash, mommy!"
