We've Come This Far
“One, two, three like a bird I sing because you’ve given me the most beautiful set of wings.” Five-year-old baby Allison is singing ‘boo-di-bull’ at the top of her lungs. She’s a sticky mess with chubby cheeks and blonde pigtails piled high on top of her head. Her bright blue eyes shine while she plays air guitar giving the new Tim McGraw song everything she’s got. It’s the last day of summer before she starts kindergarten. She has the Jack Sparrow backpack. She has the new glitter sneakers. She’s ready to fly but I find myself wanting to wrap my wings around her, hold her closer for a little while longer.
The first day of school I walk with her hand in hand down the long kindergarten hall. Her classroom is the last room on the left. I slow down on purpose. She lunges ahead tugging my hand, “Come on, Mama, they’re waiting on me.” Shouldn’t it be easier that she’s ready? She finds her seat and waves at me as the teacher closes the door. I make it halfway down the hall before I turn and run back to her classroom. My hand hesitates before I knock. I settle for a quick peek in the window. She’s laughing at some joke only five-year-olds understand. I swallow the lump in my throat, go home and wait.
If life were a movie, this is where I’d show you a montage of childhood moments. Allison wearing Daisy Girl Scout blue. Allison cracking up over the zombie science fair project. Allison spinning around in her first middle school dance dress. Allison singing. Allison dancing. Allison laughing. Allison beaming over her driver’s permit. Allison in the middle school principal’s office, head held high, angry blue eyes flashing. Sometimes you got to break the rules to shut a bully up. Allison in the counselor’s office becoming the voice her friend needed to save her from the home that was supposed to protect her. Allison watching out the window stomach full of butterflies in a baby blue prom dress.
A million little moments all swirling, flowing bringing us to the moment today when are standing in the high school cafeteria where she will register as a high school senior. This milestone is wonderful and terrifying all at once. How do we protect them forever? How do we help them make the right decisions? How do we know the best way to lead them in adulthood? It feels like a test for which I’m not prepared. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to let go.
The sun reflects off a nearby window, blinding me for a moment, taking me back to a similar bright day years ago. Allison is playing outfield in an all-star game. It’s her first and only year in softball. The opposing team is a brick wall that our girls can’t seem to scale. Defeat is heavy in the air. The girls are dusty, hot, and tired. A seasoned player steps up to the home plate. You can see her fingers tighten around the bat as she adjusts her grip. Our in-field players tense in preparation. The crack of the bat is deafening. The bleachers go quiet in anticipation of a homerun except for one tiny voice. “I got it,” Allison calls out. In a perfect, flawless move, she steps forward and catches the ball. We lost the game, but in that moment, I saw a glimpse of the woman my youngest daughter will become. She is the woman with no fear, the one who steps up when the odds are stacked against her. She’s the woman who stands up for what is right even if she stands alone. She’s the woman who speaks her mind even when her voice trembles.
“Come on, Mama,” she calls back over her shoulder pulling me from the memory. “They’re waiting on me.” Yes they are, honey. The whole wide wonderful world is waiting on you. Now spread those boo-di-bull wings and fly
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