A while ago, Dave asked me what we used to do together. Did we ever spend quality time together, just the two of us?
My initial answer was simply, “No.”
You were a single mother, I elaborated. You were working any chance you got, I explained.
You were a functioning alcoholic, I exhausted.
It was this past weekend that I was struck with the realization that we used to do one thing at least as a family. And I didn’t think I could label this one thing as quality time. It’s an activity I’ve been doing with my mentee regularly now: going to the library.
Our trio used to scatter when we walked through the library entrance. Ryan would go to the wildlife section or play games on the computer. You would go for the thick, heavy books by Stephen King or Anne Rice. I went after the historical diaries.
The Marie Antoinette robin’s egg blue cover lured me in and I was hooked.
Now when I go to the library with my mentee, we walk through the new releases. Together.
We browse the nonfiction for me. Together.
We head over to the poetry section for her and then find our way to the teen lounge. Together.
Together, we sit in the lounge and read the first few pages to finalize our decisions. We immediately talk about what we like about our selections. When we have our next outings, we update each other on what we’ve come across in our reading.
I now realize the time at the library, as most times with us, were missed opportunities.
Missed quality time.
But now I know you did try.