Turtle Waves

 And other things Daniel taught me

One of my earliest memories of my nephew, Daniel, was when he was almost one year old. I watched him and his mom sharing a sofa, Wanda lounging on one end and Daniel at the other, playing with her bare feet. She wiggled her toes at him, and he kept reaching out to tickle her toes as she pulled them away (yet letting him catch her). It was an afternoon of wiggles and giggles.

You know when a kid you’ve known all his life is growing up, or well on his way, once you realize he’s teaching you stuff.

Daniel was about 14 when we took a trip across country together to visit his grandmother, my mom. They were both excited. I was worried. 

I worried about catching our flight, making connections. I worried at the airport when Daniel started walking faster and pulling away from me. I would not call out to him, revealing the name of a young boy in my charge in a big strange public place with scary people all around. They scared me, anyway. I’m not sure if Daniel knew why I scolded him.

On the plane sitting next to me, Daniel couldn’t sit still, playing with whatever he was playing with—cars, probably—just making a lot of nerve-rattling noise. I was fed up and said “Enough!” He gave me such a look.

Mainly I worried about how much anticipation both Daniel and his grandmother had about the visit, how excited they both were to see each other. One wrong move, and the excitement would reverse. And it did.

Grandma was old, not very fastidious, and had cleaned her house to the best of her ability. The bathroom was still a little grubby, and even the bar of soap showed signs of having recently been used to clean something besides our hands. Daniel had asthma and fussed about cat hair clinging to the blankets and pillowcases on his freshly made bed. He decided to sleep on the sofa instead, upsetting Grandma. They both went to bed mad.

The next day, when Grandma went to the grocery store, Daniel and I “washed the soap.” We put the blankets, sheets, and pillowcases in the washer, then we cleaned the bathroom and kitchen as much as we could before Grandma got back so as not to hurt her feelings. The rest of our visit that week was much more fun.

Preparing to go home, I went into worst-case-scenario mode. I was afraid we’d miss our connecting flight in Dallas because it’s a huge terminal and we had little time between flights to get from one gate to another. So I got on the computer to look up alternate flights, finding none and wondering how I’d get Daniel safely home to Florida. Daniel came out from his “spa” treatment—a relaxing soak in Grandma’s hot tub—took one look at me, and scolded: 

“You worry too much.”

Twenty years later, when I get overly anxious about something, I still envision Daniel telling me I worry too much.

Later, my brother brought Daniel to Maryland to work on cleaning out Granddad’s (my dad’s) house. During some visit to my apartment, in this rapidly urbanizing suburb, we went for a short walk across the street. In the crosswalk, a car was turning the corner and crowding toward us, the driver asserting his impatience. Other pedestrians of my acquaintance would have, in turn, asserted their right-of-way by slowing down in front of such an impatient driver. 

Not Daniel. Seeing someone else whom he even momentarily (and legally) inconvenienced, he scooted on across the street to get out of the driver’s way. It was an easy gesture of simple consideration. I ran to catch up with him.

Twenty years later, I still try to emulate Daniel’s courtesy in such moments. I scoot.

On that same Maryland trip, or one like it, we visited the zoo on a day I’d taken off from work. Of all the elephants and pandas and apes and birds to choose from at the zoo, it was the large open pool of turtles that captured our attention.

A baby turtle kept paddling around an older turtle, which we assumed was its mother. No matter what direction the mama turtle turned, baby turtle would swim around to get directly in her face, stretch out its front legs, and wiggle its fingers at her nose. 

We watched for several minutes and giggled at the baby tickling its mama’s nose. Babies and mamas must all play the same games. I wondered if Daniel remembered his and Wanda’s.

Coming back from the zoo, we boarded a very crowded subway car full of commuters. Another batch of scary strangers separated me from my nephew, and he noticed I kept my eyes fixed on him, showing way too much concern. He looked up at me through the crowd of commuters, stretched his arms out in front of him as if to dive into a pool, and wiggled his fingers at me.

Daniel’s “turtle wave” was his way of reminding me I worry too much. And making me giggle.

Love,
Aunt Cindy (aka, hosaa)
riding the turtle waves

Cindy Wagner, February 7, 2021