The Little White Duck

It seemed for awhile that I didn't have a second to miss you. I mean, you were all I thought about, but there was so much drama to distract me. I have just recently started to reach for my phone to call you before remembering that I can't, or having flashes of memories that leave me wanting more...

I have no idea how old I was when I was the Little White Duck. And I do mean THE. The song was called Little White Duck, for crying out loud. If that doesn't scream HEADLINER, I don't know what does. There are pictures of me in my costume (I was the duck, did I mention that?) and mom's makeup, and I'm smiling into a bouquet of flowers. I'm not sure if it was Aunt Linda who brought those flowers, or if she just presented them to me, or if she was just picky about how a young girl (girl, star, titular character, whatever) holds her flowers, but when I see that photo, I think of Aunt Linda.

It was around the same time in my life that I was obsessed with Mary Poppins, and refused to leave the house without socks on my hands (I was sure they looked like ladylike white gloves to everyone else.) In the scene where she and Bert and the children jump through the sidewalk drawing, she is awarded a gorgeous bouquet of flowers that she holds in the crook of her arm. Oh, the glamour. That was how a woman, one who is practically perfect in every way, no less, holds her flowers.

So there I am, after blowing people's minds with my interpretation of the Little White Duck. And, it happened. Someone (maybe Aunt Linda, but who knows?) gave me a bouquet of flowers. And I remember thinking, "This is my moment. Here I am, with all these no-talents eating out of the palm of my hand, and now- there is flowers! Today, I am a woman." And I dropped the bouquet into the crook of my arm and began to pose for photographs.

This is where Aunt Linda came in. And if she didn't give me the flowers, I don't know why she didn't just mind her own damn business... "Oh, no no no Claire, hold them up." She straightened them up. I posed for one photo this way, and them slipped them back into the crook of my arm. I mean, I could pretend to let this rube have her way, but she wasn't going to ruin my moment. "Claire. Hold them UP!" She came over again and grabbed my wrist and straightened the flowers. I felt a little embarrassed for her. Had she never seen Mary Poppins? What kind of hillbilly holds their flowers like that? Someone who leaves the house without gloves on, I'll tell you that much.

This went on for a few moments before from the back of the pack of fusser-over-ers, I heard, "That's how Poppins holds her flowers." I looked up. There you were. My dark haired hero, who had put that movie on a million times for me. Who would always pause it so that I could come into the kitchen and put the magic flavor egg into my Mrs. Grass chicken noodle soup myself. Who named my winter hat and mittens- Trixie, Tammy, and Laura- to make me laugh. Who made me sit on the third stair and taught me how to tie my shoes. Who let me leave the house with socks on my hands for crying out loud. Not only that, but would explain to the bank teller that those were indeed not socks, but gloves. And there you were, rolling your eyes at this moron, who somehow didn't know how Poppins held her flowers. Maybe her kids weren't into Poppins. Or, more likely, maybe she just wasn't the parent that you were.

Like I said, there's a picture of this moment. But the flowers are sticking straight up. I'm looking down into them and smiling. And in my head I'm thinking, "When we get home, Kev and I are going to put our socks on our hands and hold these flowers like babies."