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My daughter turns 18 tomorrow. We plan to
celebrate by registering her to vote, then going out to lunch and generally
making a fuss over her.
Eighteen. How did that happen? I remember
the nurse putting that serene baby in my arms and my astonishment at her teensy
perfect fingernails and tiny ears. She opened the most piercing blue eyes and
looked right at me.
"Hi baby. I'm your mommy."
She went through college with me, learning
to color in university libraries while I studied, playing with blocks while I
typed papers. Only a couple times did she issue ultimatums. Once, during the
week before finals, she raised herself up to her full 2-year-old height and pushed
all my books off the kitchen table.
"No more books! Me!" she said.
I got the message. We went to the zoo and
played for the rest of the day. The Houston Zoo was free, and we didn't have
much money. We became fast friends with Oscar the Otter and learned to love the
lions.
When I graduated and we moved to Fort Worth
she was not yet 4. When I went to work at the Star-Telegram, l had to find a
way to care for her. At Southcliff Baptist Church's day-care center we found Mrs.
Travis, who made me feel my daughter was in good hands.
At the end of the first day, after worriedly
rushing out to the church, I walked in and she asked, "Are you here already?"
I decided we would both survive this. She stayed there until she was 11.
To those women at the church, I once again
say thank you. The woman my child is, you helped to shape with your loving
care.
The woman my child is...
Well, she's independent. She's smart, but
she has no patience with things that bore her. She does not suffer fools gladly.
She has a temper worthy of her flaming
hair. When she was little, and got angry with me, she would go into her room
and close the door. Pretty soon, little pieces of paper would come sliding out.
"I'm very mad. Don't think you can
come in here."
I'd write back, "Sorry you're mad. Let
me know when you're ready to talk."
After a while, here'd come another
note.
"Do you love me? Check one box."
There would be three boxes drawn on the
paper, one marked "More than anything in the world." Another would
say 'A lot." The third would say "Most of the time."
I'd always check the first box with a big
exclamation mark and slide the paper back into her room. Then she'd come out
and hug me.
She handles her temper somewhat differently
these days. She's more, well, vocal.
She is sentimental, and a true patsy for
animals. She has a genius for line and color, and dresses with flair. She has a
very organized mind and a sense of order, although looking at her room would
cause one to doubt this.
She has a deep rooted sense of fairness. She
still is youthfully unforgiving of people who don't live up to her standards,
but her standards are worth aiming for.
She doesn't yet perceive the world in
shades of gray. With her, issues are
delineated in black and white. It's interesting to listen to her think things
through, though, for she often helps me see something I've missed.
Once she has a sure sense of what she
wants, she doesn’t give up until she gets it. With things that are important to
her, she doesn’t leave anything to chance. She plans and campaigns and lobbies
with all the effectiveness of a Washington veteran.
She's taller than I am, and looks like her
father, though sometimes I see parts of me echoed in her. Sometimes she likes
thinking we are alike. Other times she wants distance and differences between
us.
The years between 13 and 15 were not easy
as she struggled to become her own person. There were days when I wondered if
either one of us would live through that time.
She and I have been through some dark and
scary times together and I'm not ashamed to admit there were days (and nights)
when she propped me up and send back out into the fray.
On the days I come home depressed, she’s
good at reassuring me that the world is worth the effort. When I’m grumpy, she
has a good sense of when to leave me alone and when to jostle me out of the
moodiness.
She still likes a hug now and then and is
not averse to having me baby her from time to time, but then, she occasionally
babies me too these days.
She can detect insincerity at 50 paces. She
has been proven right in her impressions of people so often that I've learned
to listen to her.
She drives me crazy with her messiness and
her total inability to hang clothes up. She makes me want to strangle her with
her whining some times. She irritates me when she tries to manipulate me with
emotionalism and drama.
On the whole, however, l think August. 23, 1965,
at St. Joseph's Hospital in Houston was a day worth celebrating. That serene
baby has grown into a vital, assertive, interesting woman.
Happy birthday, baby.
Do I love you? More than anything in the
whole world!
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And I still do, sweetheart. And I have a lot of fun watching your oldest child act EXACTLY like you, especially the lobbying and the drama. Just sayin'.
:)
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