My daughter Emma is thirteen years old now. It’s truly amazing how fast your children grow up. I remember when she was a year old and I was trying to teach her to walk and talk. (Now I just want her to sit down and shut up.)
This past week, I took Emma out for some mother daughter bonding time. Some mothers and daughters bond while shopping. Some bond at a tea party or while cooking. My daughter and I bond by going on a Bigfoot Hunt.
Okay, so the Bigfoot Hunt was totally my idea. I believe in Bigfoot. Mainly because it’s fun to believe in Bigfoot.
It was a beautiful day out at Lake Tenkiller as we hiked the woods around the dam. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. At least I think they were. It was hard to hear because Emma talked nonstop.
Emma: I can’t believe you let me watch all those Disney movies growing up.
Me: What do you mean?
Emma: they’re so wrong! I’m warped because of them.
Me: Warped how?
Emma: Like every time I go to sleep I’m afraid some man is going to come along and kiss me like Sleeping Beauty.
Me: That scares me, too, to be truthful.
Emma: Or I’ll get put in a casket like Snow White, but I’m not really dead just hibernating.
Me: That is a little unnerving, I’ll admit.
Emma: And The Little Mermaid is wrong on so many levels.
Me: Really? How so?
Emma: She’s a ginger. And she doesn’t have freckles. How many redheads do you know without a single freckle?
Me: Maybe she dyed her hair.
Emma: Riiiight. If she dyed her hair red and spent all that time in the water, it would have turned green.
Me: You have a point.
Emma: You ever notice Pocohontas? How she has that long, straight gorgeous hair?
Me: Uh huh.
Emma: But she never has a brush? What’s up with that?
Me: She used a thistle. Or a bramble.
Emma: Yeh, everybody knows Native Americans used bushes to comb their hair. Uh huh.
Me: Okay, okay, another good point.
Emma: And Snow White lived with seven little men? Shared a bedroom with them even? Seriously, you’d kill me if I did that.
Me: Yes, I would. I’d let you live with three little men maybe, seven is just overkill.
Emma: Ssshhhh… You hear that?
Me: (a little scared) Hear what?
Emma: If you didn’t talk so much, you would have heard it. It sounded like Bigfoot.
(Pause. We hold our breath and listen. All I can hear is my knees knocking.)
Me: (whispering) What kind of noise did it make?
Emma: Sssshhhh! Stop talking, Mom, geez…
(Long pause. We listen. Nothing. We walk about one hundred yards in blessed silence.)
Emma: And how about Sleeping Beauty? There’s a curse that she gets pricked when she’s eighteen. Don’t you think that metaphor is little heavy-handed?
Me: I never thought about it like that.
(I hear it. A sound like heavy breathing. And foot stomping. I yelp and run. )
Me: Run, Emma, run!
Emma: Mom, stop! Stop running!
(I stop running. Emma lopes up to me.)
Emma: Don’t run. That’s the stupidest thing you can do.
Me: (panting) Didn’t you hear that noise?
Emma: Let me explain something. When you put a ball of yarn in front of a cat, what happens?
Emma: The cat chases the yarn. When you throw a ball in front of a dog, what happens?
Me: The dog chases the ball?
Emma: Exactly. So what do you think is going to happen if you run in front of Bigfoot?
Me: Excellent point.
(We walk. Of course, I’m hyper alert and look like Don Knotts in The Apple Dumpling Gang. I try to make conversation.)
Me: Disney should make a movie about Bigfoot being a princess.
Emma: It could be a remake of Beauty and the Beast. With Bigfoot as the beast.
Me: We’ll name her Mabel.
Proof of Oklahoma Bigfoot: http://www.lloydpye.com/flash/10-Oklahoma-trip.swf