My daughter has recently decided she wants to be a mermaid when she grows up. Apparently, the other children in her class mocked her future career decision and essentially labeled it “unattainable.” Little do they understand that she is too stubborn to allow popular opinion to influence her goals.
I find her dream adorable. When I was her age, I wanted to be a cheerleader. I never even got to dress as a cheerleader on Halloween. How pitiful is that?
Our family watched “Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides” one night and, lo and behold, there is a mermaid scene right in the middle of the movie! My little girl literally squealed with delight when she spied the beautiful fin-tailed maidens gliding through the ocean. She became giddy when she was trying to point out the one she thought she would most resemble as an adult when, all of a sudden, the innocent lady fish began a violent attack on the sailors!
Naturally, she wasn’t aware of the pirate tales of lore concerning mermaids and I guess I never paid much attention myself. In any case, we both decided she would be a nice mermaid rather than a wicked sea nymph.
I’m thinking she has maybe one or two more years before she outgrows her imagination which means we don’t have much time left if we want to take her on a trip to Weeki Wachee State Park, home of the live mermaid shows.
I showed her pictures of the performers online and she begged to go immediately. I called out to my husband, “Hey, honey, children five and younger are free admission!” This information sent her screaming through the house “I’m free! I’m free! I get to go for free!”
My good friend Wendy, who says I’m technically her second cousin’s wife’s daughter, offered to get my whole family in for free, but I didn’t want to burst the bubble of elation that had enveloped my darling angel, so I kept that quiet.
When she completed her laps around the inside of the house, she returned to view pictures of the mermaids and decide which was prettiest. This was when she saw the black hoses. “What are those tubes, mommy?”
“That’s so they can breathe underwater, sweetie,” I honestly replied. She asked, “But why do they need those?”
I explained their need for oxygen which led to a disagreement about mermaids requiring the use of assistive air devices when she suddenly stopped and looked a little closer at the picture. She asked in her most distrustful voice, “Is that a costume?”
I sighed and confirmed her suspicion. I said that mermaids weren’t real, but it was fun to pretend. She said, “No, mommy. These mermaids aren’t real, but there are real mermaids. I still want to go see these mermaids.” With that declaration, she skipped away, her world still intact.
Her innocent imagination and the fuzz I saw growing on my eleven-year old son’s upper lip last week really makes me yearn for the power to freeze time. In case that doesn’t happen, I’ll keep taking these mental snapshots then document them for posterity, but I’d better laminate the pages. Mermaids don’t do well keeping things dry.
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