My little girl was reading her high school handbook last night.
Her high school handbook.
She just came home from the hospital wrapped in a blanket, all shiny and new, and now she’ll be off to high school in a few short weeks. The most tumultuous years of her life (I hope they’re not, but let’s face reality) await her and I can do nothing but wait to hear about them when she gets home at night. This is my role and I accept it.
But I sure as hell don’t like it.
To say I’m proud of my daughter would be a gross understatement; she has become a person I genuinely look forward to spending time with. She has become my…
- Movie Buddy.
- New Comic Book Day Companion. (Wednesdays rule!)
- Supernatural Sidekick. (The TV show, not the occult lifestyle!)
The list goes on… But for how long? These last few years have truly been the “Golden Years” – some o f the best of my life, in fact – but that’s because they have had a finite lifespan, as it should be. If something doesn’t evolve, it dies. We must be children and endure the trials of childhood in order to test our mettle and choose the path we wish to walk in adulthood.
Great things lie ahead for my daughter, of that I have no doubt; she is a budding author whose work will blow mine away in no time. Her victories will be legion, this I know… just as I know I’ll be experiencing some bittersweet “parenting pains” watching them unfold.