Transitions

This morning, my oldest daughter started high school.  We took a picture and I looked at her, so brimming with confidence, enthusiasm, eagerness. I hope her face is the same when she comes home today.

She's been my right arm this summer, babysitting as needed, running into the store with a 20 for milk, bread and diapers, writing out the "To Do" list and occasionally putting in notes like, "It's summer secretary appreciation day, take Bonnie to Borders."  or "Milk Shakes."  I'm an easy boss and these hints always work.

As she enters into an unknown world I have to pause and hope that the next four years won't be as painful as I recall, and yet at the same time, I know that long pounding helped form strength.  I also know because I've watched my son mature from hard knocks more than hard assignments; and while I would have spared him much of the grief he has endured, I also know those experiences made him who he is today. 

I used to teach adolescents in high school and loved that odd mixture of immaturity, inexperience, fledgling adulthood type thinking.  So seeing my daughter flit between reading and drawing Manga comics and writing a critique of "Rebecca" made sense to me; as did her bright yellow pikachu lunch box and somber navy back pack.  She was trying both worlds out because as a 14 year old, you can. Watching a teen mature over the years is a bit like watching the tide come in on the beach as you build a castle.  The first time the waves reach your feet, it catches you by surprise.  But it's not unpleasant and so you get used to it.  Then suddenly, it surges well past your construction and while you knew this was coming, it still seems to have come too quickly.

She left this morning a note on the table for me with my list of things to do and she even remembered two things I'd forgotten.  I felt the saltwater run just past my ankle. So this afternoon, we're going out for milk shakes.