“Typical Teenager.”
An airport agent once ushered those words to me after a stressful travel day with my daughters. A red flag went off in my head and to this day, after prayerful consideration during that silent cross country flight home, believe there is no such thing.
But that’s a story for another day.
Let me tell you about her. She is, by no stretch of the imagination, a typical teenager. She has never once given me any back talk. Nor has she broken curfew or the bank. In fact, she’s never asked for anything. She’s never slammed her bedroom door and yelled “I hate you!” She’s never worn out my last nerve with the “everyone else is doing it mantra.” She did not feel the need to rebel or get her own place. She never slept around, rolled her own cigarettes or brought home undesirables. As far as I know, she didn’t experiment with an alternative lifestyle or ever complain about my country music. I’m positive she did not care if I wore mom jeans or blazers when we went out. To be quite honest, I’ve never heard a derogatory word from her … ever.
I show blatant favoritism toward the others and she unselfishly waits for a mere drop of my attention. Whether she gets it or not, she stays at my side and that is enough for her.
Of all the household members, I love her the least and she loves me the most.
As of late, she has changed me. I watch from afar while others shower her with hugs and kisses. Despite her breath, they smother her with unconditional love. She accepts their offers, but returns to her self appointed spot—by me—when they go.
I’ll always remember her last vacation with us on our 6-week romp at the farm. She ran free, chased bunnies, and enjoyed every inch of the wide open spaces. You’d think she died and gone to heaven.
I wanted to give up on her more times than I care to mention. She’s such an inconvenience–sitting by me, eating and sleeping. When the time comes … I will use the excuse; I don’t want her to suffer. Just this morning for the first time, I realized the inevitable.
I love her more than I thought and can not nor will not be the one to call her name and watch her jump into the car for her last ride.
She turned 15 (105) with great expectations.
Whoa! Almost a month & half since I’ve written here. Never have I been one to follow the crowd, especially a blogger one. Pretty sure my readership has dropped way off ~ don’t care.
My lack of writing doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing, and singing, and praying, and feeling pretty good about life. I miss the kids, though! I miss their laughter and their hearts. I miss their passion and their bullshit. As far as kids & Kate go it’s been a quiet summer, therefore pretty much happyhourless, as well. That’s gonna change tonight, when I get to belly up to the new Wisenheimer Bar! Happy days are here again.
Seriously, I could blow this pop stand. I feel the need for adventure. I want to see the usa in a chevrolet ... or a VW bus. What is wrong with me? People work all their lives for nice homes, and stuff to put in them--and I’m looking for a 12’ foot Shasta camper to pull to Monument Valley.
Do you hear what I hear? Cicadas. Hence, the post today! I’m getting off here cuz I’ve got a lot of summer livin’ left to do. it may or may not include an estate (and I use the term loosely) sale, a dinner theatre, a bicycle trail, a Schpilke reunion, and a brand new-to-me retro camper ... but it’s my last half of summer and I’m on it.
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Back to the future, now ... well, almost. I can't believe it's been a year since we showered Melissa.
Lately, I'm on the couch recouperating from surgery and time travelling at will.
Just so you know, even though Apple saw fit to cancel Mobile Me, my iWeb software still opens and there it is in black and white and technicolor.
I can see it all on my transistor radio.
My trip to bountiful, so far.
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