Those Days Are Gone

Amy and Hazel Rigby, Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn, 1994. © Ted Barron

I went to a music class with my 2 year old goddaughter Daisy and her mom, our friend and ace designer Karen the other day. It was all little ones and their mothers with the ages from about two to four. The teacher was this brilliant woman Charlotte, who sat on a rug with everyone and kept pulling things out of a basket: crocodiles, sea creatures, stretchy fabric. I felt a little embarrassed because I got so caught up in the songs and clapping and stuff, I was worried I was being too enthusiastic.

It was fun, and it was sad, as I looked back at those days of two to four year olds from almost two decades. I guess it’s a little bit what it must feel like to be a grandparent? I’ll probably get a bumper sticker made up: Grandma In Training. (Note to Hazel: Not that I’m in any rush!)

I snuck glances at all the lovely mothers, willing them to enjoy themselves as much as possible and not spend their time worrying, like I know I often did. I wanted to tell them how this is the best time you’ll ever know (just like every time is the best time you’ll ever know) but I think they would have thought I was a mad woman.

So instead, I just clapped a little harder and sang even jollier, with Daisy and Karen.