Buddha as a Bird

She reminds me of Boo.

Every school day, the beginning of our time together is spent "chatting", getting re-acquainted, learning about the changes we have experienced since our lives took us in different directions. We formalize the event with a nice drink. I usually have coffee; Mackenzie expresses no preference, so I give her formula. She rests in the crook of either of my knees or arms, as I sit in the chair that I have had in my house since 1973. It is the chair with the wide flat maple arms, upon which my roommate Trevor Craig would place three coffees and two milks - to be consumed while he watched a "Hogan's Heroes" rerun - before heading off to the library to study until closing time. (Trevor is now a humanitarian doctor, with a practice in Taylorsville, NC.)

I try to steal a glimpse of whatever I am reading while Mackenzie eats. What I am unable to avoid is what appears to be her expectation that I am going to maintain eye contact with her. There seems to be the expectation that I am going to carry my share of the conversation. (I do not recall my kids having such presence.) So, not much reading gets done in this segment of our morning.

I suppose because she is away from me for a long period every day, I notice the changes in her more than I was able to with my kids. They were there all the time, and simply meeting needs took all available time and energy. Her awareness of what is going on around her grows exponentially, and it is exciting to watch.

It may be simple vanity, or some deep-seated love need, but I think she is beginning to be aware of me as an individual. It is as if she looks to me for direction. Could this be possible?

A special aspect of Mackenzie that sometimes causes a drift in my reality is her lips. They are pursed and perfect - a rosebud, and express a sort of calm waiting and watching. Boo became Boo because of this characteristic. ("Boo" is actually a corruption of "Buddha", a tip-of-the-hat to both her ample midsection, shapely head, and - most-significantly - serene bearing.) It was difficult to know if Sarah was pleased by one's behavior, or damning of it. She reserved judgment. There is still a lot of that in the young woman. (She's 19 now.)

I look and look into Mackenzie's face. It changes every day. It reflects "Sarah" to me. There is no reason to believe that Sarah might be the actual mother of this little girl. I saw her regularly during the past year, and at no time did Boo appear to be pregnant. Certainly, there seems little dispute that it was Grace there at Doctor's Hospital on September 11. It was then and there that this wild, beautiful bird flew into my Twin Towers of bitterness and despair. It was there that she began to encourage me by her Giuliani-esque grace and energy to start to clean up the mess. It was there she awakened in me some recollection of the man I once was. It was there that it became clear that I have a responsibility to re-dedicate my positive efforts in the fight against sociopathic terrorism.

But right now, she looks like Boo.