When I was a little girl our childhood home had a huge maple tree in the front yard. There was one strong, long, low branch perfect for me to shimmy up the trunk, cling and scoot out on the long branch, and then grab on with the back of my knees and hang. It was my thing to hang upsidedown like that all the time. Being in my tree felt liberating. Up there I was untouchable and surrounded by a lush, leafy world, a quiet place of peaceful observing.
Watching my own son have that experience fills me with pride and hope. Yes, I'm proud that E was determined enough to figure this out at the tender age of 3.5, but I'm also hopeful. I'm hopeful that he will find joy and solace in a tree of his own.