A Chocolate Beard and Sticky Fingers

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I watched her run ahead of me, her hair flying out behind her like a cape. Her hands were sticky and her face was smeared with chocolate from that doughnut we stopped to get on the walk home. But she didn't care about the state of her face. She just wanted to run. And I wondered: when was the last time I had sticky hands and a beard made of chocolate and didn't think twice about it? I remember public school slowly molding me into a creature of habit and care. Another child got picked on while "digging for buried treasure"...my hand never went near my nostrils again. At least, not in public. A girl was jeered at for not washing the sleep from her eyes. I made it my routine to check for eye-boogers in the morning. Several times. I almost became OCD about it. Now that I think about it, there was a lot of teasing for booger-related issues. That day I admired my daughter's care-free attitude. She could pet the dog with sticky hands and ignore the fact that her digits had grown a layer of fur; she could eat a doughnut and leave the remains on her face all day long, without a thought. Adulthood changes us. All of a sudden we need to be presentable. We're not supposed to laugh in church or scratch ourselves in public. And heaven forbid if we walk around with food on our face! She reminds me of what it's like to be a child. To take things as they come. To live in the moment...messy face and all. To be free.