Deep Thoughts

I am driving Hannah home from Circus Juventas, a youth circus arts school where she takes a trapeze class on Tuesday afternoons.  Just as we were getting into the car, she had said something about me being stupid.

“I don’t like that language,” I say.  Again.

“I didn’t mean stupid stupid,” she equivocates. “I meant it in the good way.”

“It sounded like stupid to me,” I say.

“I don’t really think you’re stupid,” she says. “But you can be annoying and embarrassing sometimes.”

I’m not sure we’re really getting anywhere.

I stop at a red light.  And I hear her say, “But . . . deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep . . . ”

The light changes.

“. . . deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep . . .”

I am being chanted a mantra. My mind wanders.  We come to our cross street.  I turn.

“. . . deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep . . . “

I negotiate the frozen ruts and mounds of snow, trying to avoid the worst bumps.  We come to our house.  I pull up in front.

“ . . . deep down inside, I really love you,” she says.

I laugh.  “I love you, too,” I say.

Verdict

Hannah and I have been tangling, on and off, off and on, pretty much since Christmas.  On Saturday, I took her to a dance clinic at her school, led by the dance team for younger students. I dropped her off, then went back at the appointed team to watch as she and the other kids performed their hip hop moves. Afterward, I took her to Subway for a sandwich.

I’m not a fool, so I asked her what she wanted EXACTLY.  She told me.  I ordered it.  A toasted twelve-inch sandwich on Italian bread with turkey, shredded cheese, orange cheese and mayo.  She went to find a table while I paid.  I brought the food to her and sat down on the stool next to hers.  She took the bag and gave me a look of disgust.  Apparently, I had ordered in NOT EXACTLY the right way. I had said “orange cheese” as opposed to “cheddar cheese.”

“You are so not cool,” she said.

Oh, you don’t know the half of it, I thought.  I was uncool before uncool was uncool.  I am part of Square Nation.  And darned proud of it, too.

But still, it bugs me just a little, to be deemed so not cool by someone who is so not yet seven years old.