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Magazine
PARENTING
On the mommy trail
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A "make believe journal" of an eight-year-old has resonances from our own everyday lives, writes ARTI JAIMAN of You're Dancing On My Footprints.
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This growing up is not working for me you know.
Dear Ammamma,
You daughter, my mom, is mean and selfish.
Dear God
... Sometimes Mummy is my best friend an' sometimes she's jus' a Wicked Mean Witch.
My life's a stew.
IT isn't easy being an eight-year-old. Ask the pros and they'll tell you. All you get to hear is "You're too little" or "You're a big kid now!" You wonder when parents will make up their minds. How come you're too little to drive a car but too big to sleep cuddled up in their bed?
It isn't easy being the mom of an eight-year-old either! If you happen to live in India, a mom quickly understands why all our goddesses are shown with about sixteen hands! That's what it takes to keep a grip on the wild mental and verbal contortions of an eight-year-old boy. You're Dancing On My Footprints by A. Quirk calls itself a "make-believe journal" of eight-year-old Amako, who lives in Singapore with his parents, dog, cat, tortoises and Essie, the helper. But you only need to browse through the book to realise that the book is really a mother's way to document the moments of immense joy and humour combined with times of complete frustration that go with bringing up an only child in times such as ours.
To be able to look at childhood fantasies with indulgence and optimism is a lot about recognising the child in all of us. Quirk does just that when she jots down Amako's deepest thoughts through his e-mails to his grandmothers and his best friend Sam, his chats with God, messages he leaves on his mom's and dad's voice mail, and the stories he writes.
There are even his thoughts and views on such earth-shattering topics such as how to butter up your mom and why it's so unfair that a mom gets to sleep with a husband while an eight-year-old has to sleep with a stuffed kangaroo!
The slim book, replete with Quirk's illustrations, jokes in bubbles and even a quickie recipe, hugs the mom trail from the point of view of the child. That is its genius. As it meanders through the curvy paths, the sudden dips, the numerous highs, many of the dialogues ring a bell; of the many times our own kids have grumbled and griped, as we pulled the wind out of their fantasy sails.
It is this resonance, in our own lives, that makes You're Dancing On My Footprints worth reading, despite a less than gripping start. The awkwardness lies in the first few pages as the author attempts to establish Amako's vocabulary, which is so convoluted that it reminds one of the literary twirls of a Calvin and Hobbes. It is only by inference — slim at best — that one guesses that at least one set of Amako's grandparents are Indian.
Nevertheless, it's worth plunging into such delightful moments, as when Amako calls out "Mum? Can you come upstairs an' see the results of my busyness?" Or the bewildering questions that cloud his eight-year-old mind, such as "Who did my mom boss before I was born. She bosses me around a lot. Did she wash Daddy's bottom when he was a little boy?"
You're Dancing on my Footprints, A. Quirk, Times Editions, Singapore, $14 (Singapore).
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