My beautiful daughter left for a week’s gym camp this morning. Filled with relief and excitement at the idea of a whole week without the daily attempts at ‘tiptoeing around’ the 17 year old adolescent child so as to risk as few explosions as possible, I sit here, writing about her. How ironic. Of all the things I could be doing which I claim never to be able to do with children – no matter how old – around, and here I am, sitting writing about my darling daughter.
As many of today’s teenagers, she has so much. She is nourished in so many more ways than I ever was at the same age in her creative cravings, and it pays off. Marla, at 17 is able to sing regularly in a top acapella group of talented young adults; she performs at least twice a year with YATS – the wonderful theatre company for young adults which trains its members and cast of current performances to perform to their absolute best. The results of their performances are stunning. The costumes, the dance choreographies, the singing, the acting, the sets … it is all top notch for what remains an amateur theatre company, running mainly on good will of member parents, family and friends. In addition to all of this, she has regular violin classes and has grown in recent years into a fine player who I never tire of listening to when she either practices or plays for pleasure. I’m not sure my weekly piano lessons ever led to much ‘playing for pleasure’ and my singing classes, although an incredibly happy part of my week, were loaded with what I guess may have been the inhibitions of adolescence, and I never quite got past that obstacle enough to shine as I maybe could have done vocally. Not until much later than 17 at any rate. The list of opportunities, especially artistic ones, goes on.
But as with everything good … there is, indeed, a price to pay. I find myself reflecting on that price often, and seem to be wondering more and more, in the month before my 50thbirthday, if I have not now reached a point where sufficient price has been paid. Where it is time to assess differently what often seems so challenging on a daily basis living with a fiery and incredibly creative and talented 17 year old girl. I have spent numerous moments mulling over the distant belief that somehow our children come to us. We do not choose them. They have chosen us. Or rather, some other force has chosen us to parent them. To love and care for them whatever. If we were chosen as parents, it is because we are able to bring up these children to be their best selves. To be the best adults possible. We are able. We are able. We will succeed. The fact that we were chosen means we already have succeeded. And yes, I do believe that my daughter is going to be just fine. That she has taken on the deep and precious values of our family life together that we have been sharing with her since the day she was born.
I watched her pour coffee this morning. I stood watching the back of her in her night clothes. Dressed lightly in her summer pj’s her body looked small. Not frail, or weak, or lacking muscle, which is certainly not the case. No, I saw how beautiful she is. And in seeing her as small , I saw her for the child that she is. I saw her as the child she still remains at 17. And it felt good. It felt safe. It felt right.
Last night, preparing to leave for a week, she ticked the items off one by one against the list the organisers of her gym camp had sent out. She was excited but scared. She asked for my help in packing. It is in those moments that I am able to feel strong again. To know that when needed, our children will ask. They are asking at those moments, for not just a helping hand from Mum or Dad, but also our presence, our time, our attention, our advice. Last night, whilst packing and getting ready, she was getting ready to leave, but showing me in every step of the way that she wanted me to help her get ready.
And right now, it is my intention to honour the magic moments in everyday life when that help is asked for. When that reconfirmation of her love for us, for her family, for her home life, is given through a simple question; through a ‘what do you think Mum?;’ through an act of sharing or a smile or a glance which lasts only briefly, but is full of intensity. I must not forget these signs, these daily lessons from my children, especially my daughter.
July 17th2020