True Love

I can remember, from my much younger days, falling in love, over and over again. I fell in love with dogs, toys, movies, fishing, and a mud pie I made one afternoon while playing in the yard. I’m not referring to the love you feel with another person, but rather a thing, an object, a passion. It may seem I let my heart roam free, but that’s not always a bad thing.

As that small child, I never wanted to let go of any of my first loves. I wanted that one stuffed animal to last forever, that one movie to play on repeat and that huge brown Labrador to live forever. They didn’t. The stuffed animal faded and came unstitched, the movie burned out and that Labrador, I can only hope is chasing his tennis ball in the clouds, and I’ll get to throw it again for him one day.

As I grew though, I finally started to let myself be open to the new toy, the new movie, the new family dog, while learning I can still hold on to all my first loves by creating another place in my heart. It’s not about replacing the love you have for something, but letting your heart grow to hold it all. In which I believe is a cherished lesson that my mother taught me.

The bigger I got, so did my heart. At times it seemed it would burst from all that I loved and treasured and then came fishing. My first trip out, with my father, to the lake was magic. Yes, I caught fish which probably helped, but once again, I fell in love. I stretched out my heart once more. From that first day, I wanted to go again and again and again. It never bothered me to sit on a bank for hours and catch nothing. It brought an abundant amount of joy when I did catch fish though. I realized that this is what a passion is and I had a passion for fishing. I might even say that fishing was my first true love.

Teenage years came and went. I was fortunate, I believe, because I did have the stereotypical High School experience that you would watch in movies. I had friends, I was the cheerleader, I went out on weekends and got asked to the dances. I still had fishing though. Nothing yet had overcome that love. I could easily blow off the hang out sessions to go sit on a bank, even if alone. I planned my life around it; I traveled to new spots, freshwater, saltwater, rivers and ponds. For some time I strived to make that my profession. No, I did not become a professional fisherman, but my passion lives on.

Fast forward to now, I have a wonderful husband, and the most spirited, all American boy a mom could hope for. For the past 5 years, it’s like I’ve watched myself grow up again, the tears and confusion when a treasured toy breaks, the not understanding when a family pet passes and the outrage when the streaming service removes that favorite movie that’s been on repeat. I’m trying to be the mother that teaches her son to grow his heart instead of replacing the love, to find a passion and to hold on to it and to not be afraid to grab a hold of another toy while still embracing the faded one.

So, one day, not too long ago, we were at the park. The “big” boys, as my son calls them, were there playing baseball. I could have taken the scene right out of “The Sandlot.” He was mesmerized; he was no longer interested in the swings, the slide, and the other “small” kids playing with him. He wanted to watch these boys, he wanted to play baseball. He remained quiet while watching them, aside from a few whispered “wows,’ that I believe were just meant for him to hear. He hung on that fence until we finally had to leave, which was not an easy task.

I was able to take a picture of my son that day, while he lingered on that fence. I wanted it for myself, for the memory. I had my Android HDR smartphone with me, and simply used the in-house editor that came with it to turn it black and white. To me, it made the scene more intriguing, as if I can still feel that moment when I look at it.

Back at home that day, the movies were gone, and baseball highlights were now playing. Baseball games were being downloaded and plans to sign up for the team were being made.

True love, he had found it and I can replay that memory forever because of one simple picture.