"what's an adventure, mama?" he asks, sloshing bubbles across the tile. he's wearing a bubble beard and his brother is pouring water on his head.
"an adventure is something that you do that's exciting, maybe dangerous, something that you've never done before," i say to him, wondering what he's thinking about as he swims in circles in the tub. "when you take on an adventure you have to be determined and brave."
"i'm brave, i want an adventure," and his true blue-green eyes twinkling assure me that he's sincere.
he's an adventure, something exciting, dangerous, unknown. everything he does is plucky, brave, buzzing. he's a crusader, a gambler, a marvel, a marvelous.some might say
that the only thing to do with his kind of spunk and spirit is to beat it down, break it, crush it until it's a fine golden powder that blows the way it is breathed upon. it seems to be the simplest way to master his energy: turn it into something easy to manage, to manipulate, to dominate. and it certainly seems to be much easier than constructing with slivers and needles a smooth and shining silver conduit for the ocean of his volition (that swirls in waves and whirls in pools) to travel safely until adulthood.
if his will is broken and he is easy to manage, then how will he say, "no!" to folly? if he is taught that children do not have a voice and that authority is little more than domination, if he does not know what it means to one-another, to disciple, how will he then be empowered to lead his own?
"i want an adventure!" is what i say beneath the water, above, and over the water. and i want an adventurer, a maverick, a boy whose will is strong, who leads and does not follow, who not only knows that which is right, but is brave, determined, and defiant enough to do it.