With Kanha home from camp -- hurray!, and unscheduled for an entire week -- amazing!, I took her and a friend -- a "guy" friend, as she would say -- to Monkey C Monkey Do, the zip-line and ropes course about an hour away in Wiscasset, Maine. Kanha and I have noticed this jungle of hanging strings and wooden towers on our occasional trips up Route 1 North as it bears a resemblance to a similar adventure park we visited in Switzerland four years ago. She remembers it fondly, as if it was a return to her natural habitat where she could take flight and bounce lightly among the tall trees; I remember it, in contrast, with immeasurable relief, having survived a couple of hours clinging to the lifelines they provide as my body violently swung from one hanging log to the next, my knees wobbling, my teeth chattering, my swear count rising by the second.
So, as you can imagine, when the prospect of trying the park's US version arose, I was going to be sure Kanha had someone other than me to climb into Tarzan's territory with her. So we picked up her guy friend, a twelve year old that a "girl" friend's mother could love -- a slim, red-headed, lacrosse player who says please and thank you and talks to adults -- and we headed north. When we pulled into the lot, the deficiencies of the Maine monkey spot vs. our Swiss adventureland came more clearly into focus -- the towers and ropes were just feet away from the Route 1 traffic and there were very few actual trees in sight. But the kids were excited so off they went -- through their safety video, harness acquisition, "ground school," and on up the wooden towers.
But her guy friend -- not so much. He handled the lower level sections with fortitude, following not too too far behind Kanha, trying to imitate her ease. And he seemed to love the zipline as much as she -- gravity sliding them both quickly above the gravel "forest" floor to the other side of the park. But I noticed from my sideline perch that he skipped the super oscillating swing that Kanha waited in line for twice, her kinetic body splaying through the air as the rope threw her from side to side, a giant grin on her face. And he looked even more tentative on the middle level of challenges, his leg wobbles looking entirely familiar to this mom sitting, quite happily, down below.
So I wasn't altogether surprised when they bounded up to me, on terra firma, harness-free, with one hour still left in their two and a half hour adventure. "Time to go," Kanha said, and her friend, as polite as ever, admitted, "I don't like heights." So we went, off for ice cream by the harbor in Wiscasset center and then back home. I was impressed by my daughter as I often am -- from what I could see, she had thought of her friend and his fear more than herself and the fun she had missed and had done what she could to minimize the embarrassment he might have felt.
Yet, later, she played her cards more openly. That night, when I asked her about the day, she asked if we could go again sometime, with someone more like her. And the next day, when I said something about her monkey park partner, she reminded me that he was JUST a friend. I entirely understood, yet, imagining an age when they will actually be looking for real girl- and boyfriends, I felt a bit wistful for them both. If he liked her as more than a "girl" friend, would he have lost his shot just because he couldn't match her preternaturally fearless form? And if she crossed him off her list because he couldn't climb a tower as high as she, would she never discover the other heights he could possibly reach -- perhaps in laughter, kindness, and love?
Ridiculous questions to be asking about two pre-teen friends, I know, but a mom can't help but wonder.
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