Last week I was too worn out after the natural burial site expedition to go to my morning ballet class, so I decided on an afternoon stroll instead.
I had a lot to think about, death and all, and a walk provides fine thinking time.
At one point, coming up a hill, I heard laughter ahead. Two women were sitting on a bench enjoying a spectacular view of the water and each other. I guessed they were in their thirties, wearing sundresses and extravagantly colored hair. They each had… a look. A large presence.
We exchanged smiles and hellos, then one said, “I like your glasses!”
“Thank you!” And then I noticed they both had much more exciting eyewear than mine. “Yours are pretty swell, too!”
After I had passed them, I turned to add, “And one of you has such a lovely musical laugh!”
As I continued, I thought about two things.
One: That was an awkward sentence, one of you….
And, two. Why do women do this? It was such a classic female exchange.
Then I remembered a morning scene at my number one son’s daycare, when he was maybe about three years old. There were two other children eating breakfast, Michael Lawless, who was always referred to by his full and excellent name, and a little girl, whose name I do not recall.
My son sat across from Michael Lawless and they began making grunting and snorting noises at each other, laughing.
The girl child sat silently, daintily scooping her cereal into her mouth.
(Twenty-five years later, in my mind’s eye, she is sullen and eating porridge. Somehow that image has the correct gravitas.)
And then another child entered, and the silent girl leaped out of her chair like one of Mister Geppetto’s puppets coming to life. The two girls hugged and jumped up and down holding each other’s hands. Then they began a litany of admiration. Squealing.
“I LOVE YOUR BARRETTE.”
“YOUR SHOES ARE SO CUTE.”
“LOOK, I HAVE NEW TIGHTS.”
The boys fell silent, watching, impassive, then returned to their festival of giggling and grunting.
I remember very little about that time, that difficult chapter in our lives, but I sure remember the scene. Over the years I have pondered how much to make of gender differences, which, until that moment, I had always assumed were not nature but nurture. I mean, I just had no idea after the grunting and preening and squealing.
That day at the breakfast table, the difference seemed so stark, the way the two pairs interacted. But winding my way up the trail past the beautiful women laughing, admiring my glasses, I wondered if these encounters were all, generally, driving at the same thing, the basic human need for connection and delight.
I see you.