I stretch out my legs in front of me and immediately realise I’ve brought something back from my recent dog-walking expedition in the wet bush. I leap to my feet and scare Quinn by screaming, “Get off me!” A leech is feasting on my blood.
I try flicking the leech off, but I know this won’t work: it’s firmly attached to my skin. What should I do? I remember a piece of advice given to me by a nature-loving friend: always carry salt when you venture into the bush.
I run to the pantry, grab the salt, and shake it over the leech until it drops from my leg to the floor. Then I take hold of the first weapon at hand – a wooden cheese board – and smash it down on the leech. But the leech refuses to flatten. It attaches itself to the board and wriggles towards me. I run outside, and standing at the end of our driveway where it meets the road, I whack the board and the leech on the ground multiple times with all my strength.
Looking up, I see a neighbour witnessing my frenzied attack. I smile – isn’t it a beautiful autumn day? – and stroll casually back to my house.
My leg bleeds for hours, dripping blood onto my recently cleaned floor. As I wipe the droplets up, more blood takes its place. Looking at the red-splattered tiles, I imagine I’m in a movie—a horror movie, of course.
We once had an encounter with a leech during the filming of a music video. While my daughter, Imogen, stood on a wooden bridge deep in the damp bush singing a song from The Lord of the Rings, Charlotte, Sophie, Gemma-Rose, and I watched in horror as a leech rose from the ground and rotated in front of us like a charmed snake. It knew we were there. It could smell us. It wanted our blood.
Fortunately, Imogen didn’t realise her behind-the-scenes crew had a crisis on their hands. She continued singing, and the video camera continued filming, creating another music video.
It’s been many years since we last made a music video. One day, Imogen announced she wanted to focus on her writing, and that was the end of our music video adventure.
I miss those wonderful days when we’d all get out of bed long before sunrise and travel to our chosen location to film Imogen singing a song. I miss being part of the team, working hard, sharing our skills, and joking and laughing together. I even miss the challenges like frost-bitten winter fingers and predatory leeches.
I used to ask Imogen, “Have you thought about making more music videos? It’s a shame not to use your talent.” I told myself my daughter was wasting her skills. She should share them with the world. My job was to encourage her, even push her a little, to keep producing videos she could post on YouTube.
It took me a long time to admit there was another reason I wanted Imogen to make music videos: I missed basking in the reflected glory. I wanted to be the mother of a daughter who received compliments for her beautiful voice. I missed being part of a team doing amazing things.
Sometimes, we hide our real reasons for encouraging or discouraging our kids along a particular pathway, don’t we? Our fears, reluctance to trust, pride, hopes and dreams can get in the way of seeing and accepting what’s best for our kids, what they want to do, or what they’re capable of doing. We twist our reasons for the suggestions we make or the obstacles we place in the way, not being completely honest because we want what’s best for us, not our kids.
When they return from work, I tell my leech story to Andy and Gemma-Rose. They giggle when I get to the bit about our neighbour witnessing my frenzied attack.
“Mum, he’ll think a crazy woman lives across the road!”
My cheese board whacking was unnecessary. Salt dehydrates leeches, and after being buried in a white pile of grains, my leech didn’t stand a chance.
But, in a way, I did need to whack that wooden board. I needed to release my feelings. How dare that leech feast on me?
Here’s my Basking in the Reflected Glory story:
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Walking through the wet, possibly leech-infested bush with Nora and Quinn.
