Vachon Imagined

When my son gets what he wants, he kisses me.

He knows I’m a sucker for his kisses.

Not naturally affectionate himself, he’s learned from me that hugs are powerful and kisses can light up someone’s entire day. They are small things that somehow carry enormous weight.

But because he’s wise beyond his years, he’s also learned how to use them.

Ah yes, the thorn of the rose.

The other side of love itself.

He knows me. He has studied me. Long before he had words, he was watching, learning, collecting information. He learned what made me smile, what softened me, what pressed my buttons.

Smart kid.

Very human.

Sometimes a little too human, if you know what I mean. God help me.

When he gets what he wants, he loves me.

When he doesn’t, he’s equally clear about hating me.

The affection disappears. The feet stomp. The protests begin.

Then, once again, come the kisses when I’ve done something he approves of, given him what he wanted, or responded in a way that suits him.

He knows how to use himself to get what he wants.

The funny thing is that most adults aren’t much different.

We learn early that affection can be traded.

Approval can be traded.

Attention can be traded.

Even kindness can become a currency.

We offer pieces of ourselves in exchange for comfort, validation, power, security, belonging, or love.

Manipulation recognizes manipulation.

And when two mirrors face one another, something curious happens.

Each reflection validates the next.

“I’m beautiful.”

“I’m justified.”

“I’m right.”

“I’m powerful.”

The reflections stretch on forever.

No different than the queen standing before her mirror, searching for confirmation of what she already believes, we too can become lost in our own reflections.

The mirror becomes our world.

The reflection becomes our identity.

The transaction becomes our understanding of love.

But love interrupts the reflection.

Love steps between the mirrors.

It breaks the endless chain of self-confirmation.

It refuses to bargain.

It refuses to manipulate.

It refuses to make affection conditional.

And standing between those mirrors, love says something neither reflection can say:

You are wonderful as you are.

Not because you pleased me.

Not because you obeyed me.

Not because you gave me what I wanted.

Not because you reflected me back to myself.

Simply because you are.

And in that moment, the chain breaks.

The transaction ends.

The mirrors go dark.

And love remains.