With Guileless Cheer

By Steve Carr

My two year-old niece navigates life backwards. That’s right. Her parents strap her in a back seat of the car, facing backwards. At first it seemed rather cruel to me, but I’m told they’re good parents and other good parents do the same.

Once the last of the complicated system of straps and buckles clicks into place, Brylee is tethered so securely I feel claustrophobic. I’ve been there, in a way, but for minutes, not the hours Brylee often endures.

I once landed on and later was catapulted off the USS JFK aircraft carrier on a COD (Carrier Onboard Delivery) airplane. Seated facing backwards, behind the pilot, I was helmeted and jacketed. Safety straps crossed my chest, another circled my waist. I was told to cross my arms (the prayer was implicit), lower my chin to my chest, and be sure my tongue wasn’t between my teeth. My Navy escort knew
exactly how to impart calm and confidence.

Liftoff was nearly 4Gs, zero to 160 mph in two seconds. It was better than any ride at the Idaho State Fair, but just like the carnival ride, I was happy when it was over and I was still in one piece. Before I could decide who would inherit my key chain collection should I not make it home, we landed.  I was unbuckled, de-helmeted and escorted, pale yet grinning, across the tarmac to the closest bathroom. I was happy to be alive and just fine with not having been allowed the pilot’s view of the ship’s just barely sufficient landing strip, bobbing on a stormy sea.

My niece is often straightjacketed for hours and not released until an adult unbuckles her. I know—I recently helped with her Houdiniesque straps after she traversed some of Idaho’s best backcountry from McCall to Sun Valley in her parents’ mini-van.

The molded and padded car seat cocoons her. Her view is of the rear seat as she hurtles backwards over the Idaho mountain roads.  Most of us would be reaching for a barf bag, but Brylee doesn’t mind a bit.  What is it about experience and awareness that often weakens our constitution, making the unsavory less and less tolerable?

Her mother found a cheap plastic mirror to attach to the seat Brylee faces, giving Brylee somewhat of a view, although distorted, of what was coming.
She can see the back of her parents’ heads and maybe a snow-capped mountain or sliver of sky, hinting at coming storms or forecasting bluebird days.

Through the mirror, what is right is left and what is left is right. To her, it’s her father’s left ear that’s larger than the other, while the rest of the world knows it’s the right one. She stays content despite the reflection in her mirror that says it’s 312 miles back to llaCcM when it’s really 213 miles to McCall and a diaper change.

Brylee sees the world as it comes to her, by way of a circus mirror. She can’t distinguish right from left and lives with guileless cheer. Soon enough she’ll be sitting in the front seat and from the windshield view she’ll spy the Sawtooth Range, the glory of an eagle, and maybe a baby doe. She’ll also see some roadkill, scorched forest from the fires, and a broken-down car or two.

I’m a “look forward” kind of guy but I’ll admit there are days I’m tempted to turn my back for a while to the near future.