Agistri: Treasuring Photographs and Children

On Friday, we took the students out to Agistri--a small, unpretentious island with about a thousand permanent residents. Instead of booking a "3 Greek Islands in 1 Day" tour, we simply bought regular ferry tickets each way and figured everyone could explore. Most of us ate lunch locally and spent the rest of the day at the beach.

On the way over we took a conventional ferry, with the cars and motorcycles down below and fixed chairs on the top deck for people. It took us about an hour and a half to reach Agistri from Piraeus. For a solid chunk of that time Margaret snuggled with me next to the rail, and we watched the foaming water move down the side of the ship as we listened to a sound like roaring carbonation. The sun was shining. The water was turquoise. Margaret's little head was snuggled perfectly beneath my chin. I found myself longing for a camera to try to seize the moment, but even as I considered it I knew there was no way to fit everything in the frame. It defied capture and after a bit I decided to try to save it without any technological aid. We just sat together.

A few hours later, I was snorkeling with Carmen and on the way back into shore I had the same overwhelming desire to capture and own the moment so as to be able to return to it at will. There is no underwater camera that also records emotions or the taste of salt water or the actual presence of a person, though. So I swam back in with my eyes on Carmen and Charlie swimming ahead of me rather than watching the fish around me. And I was overwhelmed with gratitude for this time with them while already missing them when they are not small and 'ours' any longer.

I love our children. I do not always feel as affectionately toward them as I have been feeling the past few days. Lately I sometimes feel like I could just scoop them up and eat them. Maybe I'm a little emotionally raw because of the strain we've been under (I hear it now: "Yes, a real strain to have to go to a Greek island for the day!" In the context of fabulous circumstances, though, I have been working harder and have been more stretched than perhaps ever in my life, and we are in for about sixteen weeks of it.) I think perhaps there's more to it than that, though; I think that maybe a streak of Greek culture may be wearing off on me.

We have lived here for almost three weeks and we have NEVER gone out into town as a family without people interacting with our children and with us about our children. People feel free to comment on our children and the size of our family in ways we would never hear at home.



On the Metro and around town, Margaret usually hitches a ride in a backpack. Invariably in the crowd someone reaches out and strokes her cheek or shakes her hand--or even gives her a kiss. While this would have bugged me if she were my first little baby, I have come to love it here. William and Charlie get their hair tussled. Carmen gets engaged in conversation. Jesse and I get affirmed in ways that have never happened at home.

For example, when we walked into an art shop, the proprietor counted the kids in thickly accented English:"1-2-3-4..." then added, "...Fantastic!" (He also told us to not worry about the kids breaking anything). In the meat market a man walking by pointed to the four of them and then kisses his five fingers in the universal sign language for "delicious." The cook at the kebab counter asked how many children we have and then worked for the English to say "God bless you!...it is hard, but good." My personal favorite took place our first week here, when a woman stopped us on the street emphatically asking us something in Greek and waving at everyone. After a minute and some gestures, I realized she was asking whether they were all ours. When we gave the affirmative, she clapped. And shouted "Bravo!" at us as we walked away down the street. I am not making this up. This kind of thing happens every time we go out. It's almost enough to make me feel like a minor rock star.

The difference between the cultural view of children here and that in California is astonishing. While shopping in stores we have been working hard to keep the kids away from breakables and such--"Look with your eyes and not your hands!"--and recently I could feel the frustration of the shopkeepers growing. Finally I went to hold something for William so he could see it without touching. The keeper came over and took the carved olive wood item out of my hands--and handed it to William. She then engaged him in conversation about its uses, shape, etc. and encouraged him to try it himself. Turns out the frustration was with me and my hyper-controlling ways. Have I perhaps become a bit too culturally embedded and comfortable in my home country's view of children? I wouldn't have thought so, but it's a bit startling for strangers to outdo me in welcoming my children.

Here in Athens they are welcomed and somehow treasured--not because of who they are, but just because they are children. Parents who have lots of them are welcomed, encouraged and applauded by total strangers. This makes the contrast with home all the starker. No one is shouting "Bravo!" for children down the street at total strangers back where I come from. 

I have taken many photos while here--at Corinth, Delphi, Nafplio--but if I could take one piece of Greece back home with me to have captured in order to revisit and experience again and again--it would be this sense of welcome for the little ones entrusted to our care. It won't fit into any frame, but I'm hoping that I've captured some of it all the same.