Last week, my oldest child hit double digits. And the morning after her 10th birthday, I caught a glimpse of my child that left me gripping the kitchen counter and struggling for air.
Suddenly I could see her at age sixteen: a burst of colorful style
bounding into the kitchen—the scent of teenage grooming quickly
overpowering the smell of bacon and eggs. I envisioned her nails, cut
short and square with vibrant polish, grabbing an apple. She wouldn’t
have time for a hot breakfast. And there she’d go. With barely a wave,
the door would shut, and I would be left in eerie silence wondering who
was that beautiful girl; she seemed so unfamiliar.
And when I finally found my breath after that unsettling glimpse into
the future, I felt a sudden urgency to soak up my child in the present.
Her petite hands were placing strawberries in the blender just below my
gaze. It was all I could do not to grab her, hold her, and never let
her go. And that’s when it became crystal clear—what I wanted to do with
the time that I am given … before I look up from the kitchen counter
and my ten-year-old child is sixteen.
Before Everything Changes
I want to read your words on paper before they are kept under lock and key—for your eyes only.
I want to watch you laugh until tears come to your eyes before I am no longer your favorite audience.
I want to admire your choice in color combination and accessories before my opinion on fashion is politely ignored.
I want to listen to your nighttime secrets before the bedroom door shuts, and I am standing outside listening to the melody of your favorite song drift out from beneath the crack.
I want to look into your eyes and ask, “What’s on your mind?” before I am no longer privy to your thoughts, worries, and fears.
I want to say yes before your invitations are reserved for people your own age.
I want to know you,
Listen to you,
Love you,
Before everything changes
and you’re not my little girl anymore.
I was going to publish the above poem on my blog last week, but I
felt this story was unfinished and honestly, just too sad. So I set it
aside and waited to see what might happen with my
just-turned-ten-year-old that might offer a bit of hope. And hope came
one evening in the form of an invitation.
“I want to show you my videos,” my daughter said.
Although there were writing deadlines and home duties I needed to
attend to, I pushed thoughts of them away. Instead, I watched in awe as
my daughter showed me a collection of Do-It-Yourself videos she’d
created in the past few weeks. There was bracelet making, hairstyling,
and American Doll crafts, to name a few. Each video incorporated
detailed graphics, voiceover, and background music. With quick,
purposeful keystrokes, she showed me how she made these videos.
Suddenly, that unfamiliar girl I envisioned at age sixteen was staring me in the face.
Terminology I did not know came from her lips.
Interests that were not mine were described in full detail.
Topics in which I had no credibility were all too familiar to her.
But guess what? It did not matter.
My child was the expert of this foreign world and she was inviting me
in. She was willing to show me what I did not understand. It was okay
that all I could do was listen, marvel, and ask an occasional question.
And that’s when it hit me.
With each passing birthday, the map of her life would expand to
reveal a new section of uncharted territory. Intimidating and unfamiliar
places I have never been would be revealed to me. And although it might
be tempting to retreat to separate paths, separate rooms, and separate
screens—I must stay the course. This means I must accept the rare and
important invitations that may sound like this:
“Hey, Mom, check this out.”
“I want to show you something, Mom.”
“Wanna see what I’ve been doing?”
I must hear things that are not going to be easy to hear.
I must answer questions that are not easy to answer.
I must love a child that may not always be easy to love.
And if I make a conscious effort to accept her invitations at age
ten, perhaps I will still receive them at eleven, twelve … and so on. I
can only try.
After watching her self-made videos, I informed my daughter that it was time for bed.
“I like it when you tuck me in, Mama,” she said sleepily.
And just like that, I was back in familiar territory. I knew this
place—the blankets, the just-right pillow, and her favorite stories. It
is where I’ve counted every sun-kissed hair on top of her head. It is
where every laugh line on her face reads like a map of the most sacred
territory I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Whether I am in familiar territory or unfamiliar territory …
Whether she’s ten or sixteen …
Whether we are on the same page or in completely different chapters …
One thing remains constant: she is my child, and I will love her as much as humanly possible in the time that I am given.
And on the days I feel like I’m staring at a stranger, I will try
more than ever to be all there—because in the midst of our busy,
media-saturated, overscheduled lives, taking time to really know someone
is the ultimate act of love.
With a little love, time, and attention, I believe it is possible to light even the darkest places of territories unknown.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everyday is a rush from the time the kids come home from school. From washing them up, to checking AN's bag for homework. We study for the next test, do some revision, set up stations for the younger one to play at, keep the kids away from each other's path (and flaring up when they prefer to invade each others' territories). Then it's dinner. Then whatever they want to do before bed (be it story time or craft work).
Up till bedtime, AN will have lots to tell me and I have to constantly shut her off, reminding her that it's too late to still be talking and she should be sleeping soon to get up fresh and awake the next morning.
But there will come a day I yearn for what I'm taking for granted now.
Thanks Shirley for this link.
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