My Husband Bill and I have seven children; four adopted daughters and three birth children. It was Labor Day weekend: the entire family went to a bible camp weekend getaway. Of the seven, it was my daughter Lee who would laugh as I ran around trying to catch them. I could hear her laughter every time I picked up my feet and placed them down.
She thought it was funny simply to watch me as I ran. The smile I was getting from my daughter’s face gave me the energy to embrace her like I was one of her peers. When we decided to go horse back riding, it was Lee’s horse that I trailed behind. All this was not intentional. If I were to choose one of my children to run and play with, it would have been one of the others. I thought any of the others were a whole lot more fun. Yet, it was this child who was brightening my day. She was doing so in what I would call an unusual way.
I always enjoyed hearing the laughter of my children and seeing their faces light up as they ran, played, or dazzled me with their competitive spirits. Our oldest girl, Amanda, was blossoming into a beautiful singer. She always coveted and aimed to have the leading part in most of her performances. She was on the track team in her school and took advanced classes.
Our second daughter Alexis was extremely athletic and ran like the wind. She also had a lovely voice and was on the school track team. Our third daughter Amber was very active and wanted to be a part of everything. Our youngest and only biological daughter, Andrea, was very charming and knew how to get her own way. Our sons Alexander and Ren were overwhelmed by having five sisters who waited on them day after day.
Lee was daughter number four. She too had her own talents. Nevertheless, of all of my children, she was the slowest in every way. She had a beautiful singing voice, but I was convinced that she was not going to become a soloist. She was just too bashful. Even though she sang with her siblings, she would never take the lead whenever they participated in anything.
From the first time we met, as the others sparkled and shined, I was captivated by her beautiful, quiet smile. Even when she would perform with a sea of people, I thought her individual performance was worth all of my attention. However, if you would meet this child today, she probably would not impress you in any way. She may not glance your way, but if she did, not a single word she would say, but to give a little smile.
Lee was the youngest of the four daughters we adopted. Bill was a little taken aback by her lack of energy: “Is there something wrong with that baby?” he asked me.
I smiled and replied, “No she is just a quiet little one.”
“Why is her tongue always sticking out of her head?” He asked.
“She sucks her tongue,” I returned, not revealing to him that I too was a very quiet child who sucked her tongue.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am very sure,” I responded. My eyes followed her as she smiled and ran in the opposite direction. She had what appeared to me to be a bit of an unsteady gait. She was only fourteen months old when we first met, so I dismissed her unsteadiness as age appropriate. Her two year old sister was full of energy and in my opinion, bouncing off the walls. Bill was drawn to her. I kept my eyes on the little one whose smile I could see, but there weren’t any words to go along with it.
One summer, to nurture our children’s athletic ability, we signed them all up for a track team. The children competed very well during the track and field season, winning numerous ribbons and medals. One of the goals of the track team was to go to the junior Olympics. The final event that was chosen for the children to compete in, in order to qualify, was the one they did well in all season.
Lee had won a couple of medals and ribbons during the season. The coach however, wanted to ensure that she had a spot in the state finals, so right at the last minute he placed her in the high jump. She qualified. Four of my other children also qualified to go to state finals. Based on their performance all year, I had my presumptions of which of the children would make it to the junior Olympics. I was very wrong; only one of my children made it. It was Bailee.
Several others from the track team qualified in various events and we flew to Detroit, Michigan. During the competition, I held my breath every time it was Lee’s turn to jump. I would breathe a sigh of relief whenever she landed on the mat. Again, we had our preconceived ideas of how the team was going to do and the medals we were going to walk away with. Wrong again. Lee won! The fact was she placed sixth. That day sixth was the same as number one to me. As she stood on the podium and received her medal, it was one of the only days I did not see her smile. She kept her hands on her medal as it hung from the ribbon around her neck.
Another family pass-time of ours was to attend every picnic or family event that was available to us. This gave us an opportunity to socialize and bond with all of our children. It was a hot humid summer day and we attended Bill’s company’s picnic. Our youngest daughter kept asking to go on an Indian swing. Finally, Bill conceded and decided to go with several of our children.
He was needed in order to pull them so they could ride the swing. He ran around and played with them for about half an hour or more. When the children had enough of the swing, they all jumped off and headed for the pavilion under which I sat waiting for them. I saw my oldest, then my youngest daughter running by. Several minutes passed by and Bill did not return. I called the children and asked them for their dad. We do not know where he is, was the response.
“How could you not know?” I probed. “He was playing with you.” The oldest child looked over in the direction of the Indian swing.
“There he is sitting under that tree with Lee.” I saw them but some how I sensed that something was wrong. I got up and started to walk in their direction. As I approached, Lee stood up.
“I tried to wake him up,” she said. “I tried but I just could not.”
I could see his chest moving but his tongue was hanging out his mouth. I placed my hand on his shoulders and shook him.
“Bill, are you ok?” His eyes fluttered opened. He had a rather confused look on his face.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You tell me”, I replied.
“Well, I was swinging the children and the next thing I knew, I was very exhausted, so I came and sat here.”
He had a history of high blood pressure and had not taken his medication that morning. The heat and all of the running and playing with the children proved to be a bit much for him that day.
So this weekend, as Bill, Lee and I walked towards the horse stable; I slowly turned my head and looked over at her. She was the only one of our seven children who chose to accompany us. All the memories of this child filled my head. I remembered Bill words.
“Why is her tongue hanging out her head?” I pondered; she was the only one who sat rubbing his head.
“You are running too slowly Lee.” Yet it was only her who had a medal, not one of the children I would have expected instead.
Through my personal experience with my seven children, I’ve learned to cherish the simple things that may seem unimportant. Lee does many things very well and most of all she gives a radiant smile that I very often need.
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