This is my first time awaiting a child's return from a night out on the town, her out to see Flobots in a Scottsdale bar (there might be a few of you who get that). It helps that she's out with two women I trust absolutely (my step daughter and her partner), so I know my daughter will be returned in one piece.
She turned 14 yesterday, much better than when I hit that age, still very much an innocent, much more level-headed and determined to succeed; I was lost in rebellion (against my parent's Catholicism and my father's military career), determined to create as much chaos as I could muster.
She has always been a most-precious being, at times aloof as if occupying another dimension, marching to the beat of her own drummer. From an early age, she eschewed dolls for animals (Simba from the Lion King being her still-constant companion). In kindergarten, she rejected the throngs to befriend a little boy with Cystic Fibrosis because, well, he couldn't play with the other kids and so, had no friends. Ever since then, she's gravitated to the outcasts, the kids who, like her, find solace in books and see the culture that's aimed towards tweens as fraudulent and feeble.
After we moved to Phoenix last month, she's struggled to adjust, finding her new school unfriendly and unforgiving. She told me that the Goth kids, "Creep me out," and that the mean girl culture of the top social tier, "Don't value anything but themselves and how they appear to everyone else." She says she spends her lunch period reading alone, claiming she feels rejected but I suspect she has little patience with the arbitrary rules imposed for joining the various eighth-grade cliques.
(More below the fold)
In the middle. She was once that, but is so much larger, now.
Adjusting at her age, I was a class clown and a neighborhood park stoner. Different paths in navigating the harrowing journey of early adolescence.
Our circumstances are much different, of course. Until last month, we lived seven miles outside a town of 1,500 and in the middle of 3 million acres of National Forest, a babe in the woods, a child of our first African-American president (and seeing no issue with that), fording streams and discovering a secret glade in the midst of a large aspen grove.
At her age, I was living in Denver and wondering how much more corrupt our country could become, secret bombing and taping and B&E.
I went to my first concert at 13 with some hoodlum buddies -- Alice Cooper with Brownsville Station opening up (and some crappy local band as a warm up) -- and as soon as we were dropped off, the bottle of whatever-that-was was opened up for us to down, with no aversion to the pipes and papers being passed around.
When I got home that night, I sat in a tub, my ears ringing and my head spinning, my heart pounding with the experience of unfettered freedom in which I'd just been immersed.
I know Lilly won't be repeating two-thirds of my experience. First of all, her vegan lesbian chaperons are down on drugs (even weed), and while they're cool with me taking a toast every now or then, there's no fucking way they'd allow my daughter to hit it -- not where she's at. Secondly, Lilly herself seems inured to the entire drug thing: She knows her dad indulges from time to time (she's no idiot) and her mom supports Ron Paul because of his stand on weed (and his take on the war) and, I believe, the mystique has been taken away for her. She shows no interest in it. At her age, pot leaves emblazoned everything I could put a pen to.
Finally, it's just a matter of her being a "good girl." Ever since she was a baby, she's been invested in doing the right thing, not being bad. While the "shame core" that accompanies her commitment to doing good is troubling to me (it breaks my heart at how tough she is on herself when she screws up), it does seem to be the standard by which she governs her behavior.
I sincerely hope it serves her well as she continues on her path to adulthood and doesn't unduly batter her psyche.
&&&
I picked Lilly up from the place where big step-sister had arranged. As I suspected, big step-sister and her mate did a wonderful job insuring Lilly's well-being -- and fun -- taking their guardian/protector roles very seriously (although appearing to have had some fun themselves!). Lilly got four autographs from the six band members, step-sister's partner bought Lilly a "show only" CD, also signed.
And, as I suspected, Lilly was transformed: Ebullient, confident, telling her dad about the show in a manner that was both intelligent and secure. The timorous, searching voice of the little girl had been replaced by the towering strength of a young woman with feet firmly planted on the ground.
Yes, I'm a little sad, seeing my baby girl only in the photographs I hold in memory. However, joy is the overwhelming emotion here. In a society that seems to value greed, dishonesty and mendaciousness (I continue to maintain that 19 extremists did a fraction of the damage done by 10,000 bankers), Lilly appears to continue on her path of doing right, doing good, listening to that ethical inner voice that guides her. While last night was a minor test (I knew Big Step-sister and her partner would be impeccable in upholding their roles), Lilly passed with flying colors.
My little girl is becoming a hell of a woman.
In closing, I'd be remiss in not quoting Carole King:
Although you see the world different than me
Sometimes I can touch upon the wonders that you see
All the new colors and pictures you've designed
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine
Child of mine, child of mine
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine
You don't need direction, you know which way to go
And I don't want to hold you back, I just want to watch you grow
You're the one who taught me you don't have to look behind
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine
Child of mine, child of mine
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine
Nobody's gonna kill your dreams
Or tell you how to live your life
There'll always be people to make it hard for a while
But you'll change their heads when they see you smile
The times you were born in may not have been the best
But you can make the times to come better than the rest
I know you will be honest if you can't always be kind
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine
Child of mine, child of mine,
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine
Child of mine, child of mine
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine
(Cross posted at The Firebird Suite where I blog about parenting, politics, music and just about anything that is stuck in my craw)