“Can I put my camera in your bag?”
My youngest was already stowing her camera in the clear plastic tote bag I carry to the ballpark. She also added the giveaway wand from a few games earlier, hoping it would bring luck to the White Sox.
The bag, as usual, was almost too full to zip at the top, which means there was already a lot of stuff: a sealed bottle of water; sunscreen; a rolled-up plastic poncho in case of rain, as well one still folded into its original package; small bags of peanuts and fruit snacks; my score book and three pencils; Sharpies in black, silver and gold in case of an opportunity for an autograph; wet wipes; ibuprofen and Band-Aids; maybe a folded jersey or jacket in case I needed an extra layer.
And, yes, wallet and keys and the supplies I need to take insulin so I can eat.
Parents hold and carry so much for their kids. Parents of babies and young children know how much it takes to get out of the house: diapers, wipes, food, extra clothes. As they pass each stage — when they get into a car seat that stays in the car, for example, instead of a baby carrier that weighs more than its cargo and snaps in — the load gets lighter.
But it never actually goes away.
I’d like to be someone who travels light. Truth be told, when I’m on my own, I am. I’ve traveled internationally for up to a week with a small purse and a carry-on size backpack. Part of that is because I know I can buy toothpaste in Paris if need be, or even a skirt at the airport if it seems necessary.
But with kids, even teenagers and grown kids, I hold so much more. Basic first aid supplies, things I think they might want or need, things they want to bring but don’t want to be stuck carrying. Because they, too, want to travel light.
That’s fine. It’s good even, as we watch them hit the ground running and absorb all they can of this crazy and wonderful world. Because how else will they learn that, as broken and troubled as it is, the world really is wonderful? They have to see the beauty of creation, the love that lives in humanity, with their own eyes.
And the real weight of the things we hold for our kids — the hopes and dreams, but also the fears and sadness that come with knowing that, at some point, their hearts will inevitably be broken — is so much more. What’s carrying a camera or some snacks compared to that?
That day at the ballpark, my daughter took the bag from me to find our seats while I stopped to get food. By the time I rejoined her, she was impatient to take her camera and be off, leaving me to watch the bag while she found the subjects she wanted to photograph.
I watched her go, then pulled out my score book and started penciling in the lineup.