Light and easy
December 12, 2017
Last night Ester needed help on a paper she’s working on for english. The assignment was to argue for or against the statement “AI will become Frankenstein’s monster.” There were and handful articles and videos she could use to support her position and she was required to have at least three paragraphs, each using three quotes for the sources to prove her argument. BLAH. No pun intended but it was a monster of an assignment and now, here we were, on the evening of the eve of delivery and it wasn’t complete. Full disclosure, she had asked me for help earlier in the week and I did put it off for absolutely no good reason. Gun to the head I procrastinated because I didn’t feel like spending my evening editing a middle school english paper on AI.
So rewind back to last night, 9pm, when she reminds me (again) that the first draft is due tomorrow (today) and I haven’t helped her to edit and she’s “asked me so many times” and I feel a familiar sense of failure creeping-in around the edges. A wave of shame pushes up from my belly and breaks over my chest. I can see on Ester how stressed she is, how worried this paper has her. The weight of her life pushes on my middle girl more than is fair. She’s only thirteen but the stress has made her shoulders rise and her head and neck slightly fall. I look at her and she is crumpling in front of me and it’s not right. She was my baby girl yesterday. She was 51cm long liked to nuzzle into my neck when peaking over my shoulder. She was warm against my chest when we would fall asleep together. Her eyes were alive and curious and frenetic, even when we would argue. Especially when we would argue.
And we’re arguing now. Not loudly or forcefully, but arguing all the same about how I can’t write the paper for her. About how, if she was in such a bad position, all she needed to do was to explain so I could get involved earlier. I hear all of these words coming out of my mouth about responsibility and planning and I know that they’re hollow–she did try to come to me. She maybe didn’t tell me the whole story but she did come to me and I just brushed it off, treating it with null importance. I’m the one who gave the slide handle another turn. Not her. I realize I’m looking down and look up to see her face.
Her eyes are scared and sad and defeated and I can’t tell where the stress with the assignment ends and her disappointment with me begins. Deep breath. I pull up a chair next to her, determined to fix things. Over the course of the next two hours I explain, we discuss, she questions, we formulate and reformulate and take turns typing and it’s done. The draft of course but my baby girl is back too. There were a few small tears shed earlier that are gone now leaving pink stained eyes staring back at me. She’s thankful but more than anything I can feel her relief. I wonder how much of that relief is because the assignment’s complete and how much of it is because I was there for her. She packs her bag quickly and I send her off to bed. When she walks away her steps are light and easy. Maybe some of the weight is gone now and it makes me think of this time we were at the beach after she got her new hat.
She was happy that day…
LeicaM7, 35mm Cron, Kodak Tri-X +1 at the Icon.