THE TREASURE HUNT

       I knew she was going to be “different” the moment she was born.  She was a baby unsatisfied with normalcy.  She cried often unable to be pleased by holding, patting, feeding, or music.  For a long time I figured she would always be unhappy and had inherited discontent from my side of the family.  It wasn’t until she turned 11 did I realize her potential for changing the world.

When Sarah was six plus two months, I finally allowed her and her six year old brother to go to kindergarten.  School made her world so much bigger.  She still spent hours with her baby dolls that she loved so much, but she was learning other things that would take her time.  Reading became something I saw her doing more and she did it with her whole self.  Her first reading homework was a small book with simple words like “the, boy, girl, run, go, look, Ted, Pam, dog” etc. –your typical primary reader.  She was excited to sit next to me and show off her new skill.  We sat on the couch together and she read.  I noticed every time she came to the word “Look!” she would raise her voice and shake her entire body.  There were at least four or five instances when she did this throughout the book before I stopped her and questioned her body movements.  She smiled and her blue eyes sparkled at the opportunity to teach her mother an obvious skill.  “Mommy, my teacher says every time we come to one of those (pointing to the exclamation mark), we are supposed to get REALLY excited.  She continued to read and we both would shake our entire bodies at the exclamation marks.

A few weeks after school started, Sarah came home with a mission.  They were going to have their first “show-n-tell” in two days and she had to find something and be prepared to share about it.  She was not open to any suggestions, she would take care of this herself.  It was “homework.”  Less than an hour later, she instructed her father and I to sit on the couch while she said her speech for us.  “This is my very first (fust) baby doll, Rose (Wose).  Her hair stands up, because I used to carry (cawwy) her around like this.”  As she reached her final statement, she took her doll by the fistful of hair, trying to imitate the years when she, herself was just barely past the baby age.  We clapped.  She said it again.  We clapped.  She said it again.  We clapped.  This went on about four times per hour for the next two days.  We all breathed a sign of relief but had butterflies with her when the big day finally arrived.  She and Rose came home from school, neither one of them smiling very sincerely.  “How’d it go?” I asked anxiously.  “Mommy, all that practice and when it was my turn, my teacher asked me questions!  I didn’t get to say my speech at all.  She said, “Sarah, you brought a babydoll, eh?”  I said “yes.”  She said, “What’s her name?”  I said, “Rose.”  And that was it!  

As a parent, I thought that was fine.  Why put pressure on six-year-olds to do prepared speeches?  My Sarah was disappointed, but I think that may have been the start of her love for public speaking.  Michael and I were often her captive audience.  Many Christmases included a “special” gift from Sarah.  This gift was usually in the form of an hour and a half play or “show” given by her many dolls—all who had voices that sounded vaguely like Sarah’s.  There would be music, jokes, serious storylines, and lots of laughter.  Special chairs would be set up for Michael and me, once again the captive audience.  These “special” gift performances would also come at Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, birthdays, and sometimes just for no reason at all.  As her doll collection grew to over 300 dolls, the shows grew longer because she couldn’t bear to leave anyone out.  I often spent my time during these shows either laughing hysterically or sleeping.  I remember one of the last performances, every other sentence she said was “Wake up, mom.”

  At one point, she decided since her dad was a minister, a mass baptism was in order.  So, we gathered in her “doll” room where she had her dolls all lined up and all 300 names typed out on one certificate so her father could perform the ceremony.  What a relief to know those dolls were baptized!

An interesting moment in the doll room was the day she lost a doll she had made out of water balloons.  The balloons had popped and she felt the need to bury the poor guy.  She served snacks at the funeral and took an offering to cover the expense as well.  She played the theme from “Beauty and he Beast” on the keyboard while her father sincerely sung the words.  I’m embarrassed to say, my hysterical laughter did not add much to the service.  Following the service, we buried the deflated doll (laid out in a shoebox) at the back of our yard next to one of the many cats we buried at that house.

One of my favorite dolls (besides Rose), was “Marta.”  She was a doll I found at Walmart with an irremoveable smudge on her forehead.  I promptly bought her because I felt sure no one else ever would and she would suffer from low self-esteem her entire life.  I took Marta home and found myself wondering if Sarah would even like her.  So, I sat at the computer and wrote a story about how I found Marta crying at Walmart because none of the little girls wanted a doll with a bruise in the middle of her forehead.  I printed out the story and included it in the bag with the doll.  Of course, Sarah embraced her and promptly took her to the doll room to be properly introduced to her new “brothers and sisters.”

It was on Mother’s Day when Sarah was 11 that she gave me one of my favorite gifts, although I had to really work for it.  She was excited.  After making me breakfast in bed, we all went to church.  Sundays were exhausting for me on a GOOD day and this day was no exception.  In fact, it was worse because it was an extremely hot day.  I usually liked to spend all of my time in our air-conditioned home if it was that hot.  Our yard was huge and lacked trees, shade trees in particular.  So, when Sarah announced after dinner that she had a “special” gift for me, I groaned (maybe even aloud).  

“Oh, c’mon mom, it’ll be fun.” She pleaded.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A treasure hunt.” She said calmly as she handed me the sheet of paper with directions.

“Okay.” I agreed very reluctantly.  I looked at the sheet.  Oh God, I prayed, give me patience now!  

Walk out front door 500 steps east.  Okay, so not only do I have to count, but I have to know my directions….oh no.  I did it.

Turn south and go 742 steps.  I ended up in the soybean field.

“No, mom, you’re taking too big of steps, your supposed to be here.”

Sarah took me back about 42 steps to the boundary of our property.

“Turn west and go 1,049 steps.  I ended up in the middle of Fleming’s cornfield.

“No, mom, you’re supposed to be here.”  She walks me to the western boundary of our property.  I start muttering under my breath…I’m hot, I’m sweating, and I’m tired.”  “Mom, I promise you’ll like the treasure,” she said.  

Turn north and go 50 steps.  I did it right for once.

Turn east and go 45 steps.  “Sarah, I’m just going in a circle.  This is so stupid!  I’m hot, I’m sweaty, and I’m tired.  What kind of a mother’s day gift do you call this?”  I regretted it the minute I said it.  I saw the pain in her eyes.  She looked down.  “It’s okay, mom.  I’ll just tell you where the treasure is.”

“No,” I said ashamed of my complaining, “I’ll do it.”  

  Turn north and go 98 steps.  I ended up in the church parking lot.

I was so irritable I was wishing there were NO holidays EVER!

Turn east and go 49 steps.  I was getting angrier with each step.  NO GIFT was worth this!

“Mom,” Sarah said, “Go in the front door and go down the hall 20 steps.  Your treasure is on my bed.”

I walked into the air-conditioned house and felt immediate relief.  I went straight to Sarah’s room, not even bothering to count the steps. A small wooden box was on her bed.  I sat down and opened it.  Inside was a treasure.  Every single note I had ever written to Sarah was in that box, including the story about Marta.  I sobbed as I read each note, not because they were sad notes, but because there truly was a treasure at the end of the hunt.  But the real treasure was standing at the bedroom door with sparkling blue eyes and a smile.