Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-06-30 - 5:57 p.m.

Dat

One of Older Daughter's very first words, after she spoke the names of her parents (which I remember as "Dada" and "Hey") was "dat". Dat had two meanings, depending on inflection. One was, "What exactly do you people call that thing?" and was replaced in a few months with "Wuzzat?" She took the names of each object and filed them away, satisfied, until she could do things like flip through the pages of her beloved JCPenney catalog and say proudly, "Crossbow."

But the other, equally common, usage for "dat" was "I expect that object over there to be put in my hands immediately." This evolved into, "I GET dat," said quite matter-of-factly. I loved the implications; it wasn't said as a command, merely an expression of the natural rightness of things, her certainty that the Universe would provide - I see dat, I want dat, I GET dat. If you responded with something outside the natural order, such as, "No, hon, I can't give you that," she'd repeat it one more time calmly - since you obviously misunderstood the nature of the Universe here - but after that, if the desired thing failed to materialize, she was unpredictable. She might shrug and go on to something else, or she might come completely unstuck and throw herself to the ground. But there was always another "I GET dat."

I told a friend last night that I was into gratification - not necessarily instant, although I don't turn it down too often, but definitely gratification. I have a lot of "dat" in me. I don't have so much over physical stuff - thank God, my house wouldn't take any more acquisitiveness. Well, okay, I have it for 68 Volkswagen buses, which my daughters call hippie vans. I can point and say, "I GET dat," with great honesty. I see it, I want it, I have wanted it, I will want it, put it in my hands immediately. I don't throw myself to the ground and kick, but I reserve that right.

But most of my "dat" has to do with less air-cooled items: forbearance, wisdom, serenity, recovery, and the occasional baklava.

I know where to get the baklava.

It's not that I don't want to work for things, or earn them in my own way and time. I think it's not, anyway. I have some patience; I am a good line-waiter. However, when you're waiting in line for the Peter Pan ride, they don't have a little buzzer that rings every five minutes and announces, "Hey, you're NOT THERE YET!" the way the rest of life does.

Right now, I am doing some work that I find difficult. I am struggling with the major changes in my relationship with my boyfriend; I am trying to stay sane and care for my mother at the same time; I am trying to get some of my life and living space into order. And I want to do these things with some sort of grace, but grace seems just out of reach, or else my shoes are way too big, or something. I'm NOT THERE YET.

I'm always feeling a little bit off, a little bit unfinished, a little bit out of the center of my own orbit. A little too confused, or too needy, or too whiny, or too unfeeling, too oblique, or too exposed. I keep passing through a balanced center on my way to too far one side or the other, like a water skiier crossing the wake over and over; I wave to balance as I go by, hey there, I'll be back through in just a minute.

And I am too often feeling like sitting down suddenly and saying, "No. Too hard. Don't wanna." Petulant. I want some easy and I want it RIGHT NOW. I get DAT.

I know it'll come along if I just do the things I know I need to do hour by hour, even the really really hard ones. It may not be just around the next corner - that's an illusion created by all those freakin' s-turns they put in there - but I make progress, and progress is a good thing. I get clearer about how I feel about my relationship with my boyfriend. I get cleaner in my dealings with my mother. I get through and past the urges to do stupid things out of desperation. I get more of the dishes put away.

I get, slowly and in my own stubborn way, dat.

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