She is nine today. And the world is no longer about princesses and teddy bears but 504 plans and assessments and cognitive behavioral therapy. The liminal boundary between magic and reality comes into focus so hard that it punches you in the solar plexus and leaves you gasping for breath. And she is only nine.
I worry for her now in a way that I never did before. Her bright and strong self has found its counterpart of doubt and vulnerability, and the unforgiving world crouches like a lion in the grass, watching and waiting for it’s opportunity to strike. Her ability to yet prevail is there, but the lion is patient and even more confident than she. And I, so utterly powerless against it myself, can only watch and hope my cry of alarm is loud enough when the moment comes.
For me, it has always been a perilous thing. Nine years ago it was a vast and foreign landscape, and I did not know how or even if I could navigate through it. We managed to step through it, sometimes sweetly and carelessly, other times at great cost. We found succor in the very ordinariness of things as well as the occasional delights, but learned that each peril endured gave way to another. Now, the map of that landscape is much more detailed; we know there will be danger ahead, but that knowledge offers little preparation, only hesitation and uncertainty.
She knows this, too. The world, miraculous and vast, unveils itself before her and invites her to imagine anything. She does just that, but with equal parts joy and apprehension. When the world is so unknown, everything is a wonder. When you begin to comprehend it, then the realization that it is also filled with terror, colors everything you see. It takes time, sometimes a lifetime, to appreciate how to move forward. Nine years is just a blinking glance, but enough for her to know that there is much to understand.
She has been described to me by others as “a leader” and though I consider hope a singular weakness, I find myself wanting that hope. Leaders are not awarded any better degree of insight into what lies ahead than anyone else, but they are less encumbered by the fear of the unknown and more willing to trust in themselves. Those elements of her personality have been tested but not yet proved, but the proof will be had before long. The lion will see to it.
For now, we continue the journey together. My path and hers have been the same these nine years, but I know they will start to diverge soon. I might try to stay beside her, but I can’t prevent the inevitable. I don’t know if anything I’ve said or done will ever be of use, but they are the only real gifts any parent can give a child, and she will have to find the value or lack thereof in each in her own way. At nine, they are mainly indecipherable clues, carried as much out of indifference as appreciation. For now I have to find my own ability to trust that she will make her way with or without me, and that she will make her way through that terra incognita looming ahead.
I hope that her trust in herself will always outweigh any (unreasonable) fears of the unknown. Happy Birthday, Charlotte!
Never have my own limitations been brought more sharply in to focus than they have by parenthood.
So I guess it is an extraordinarily good thing that I never got around to procreating. I am all too aware of my own limitations as it is. Fortunately the cat doesn’t seem to notice it so much.
Nine year plus beyond where you, Bridget, and Charlotte find yourselves, I can say that the lion is also in doubt. At this point it is not so much in your limitations, any more than ours, than in her promise, that the future lies. Happy Birthday, Charlotte!
Psst ! Bridget ! It gets even better, believe me.
Of all that I’ve read of yours, this is by far one of the best things you’ve ever written. Happy Birthday Charlotte!
Nine years on…and hopefully you’re wiser, happier, and eager to see what the next nine have in store. Having never had any children of my own, I’m fascinated by your perspective. Continued good luck in your journey!
Happy birthday, Charlotte.
The next nine years can be just as incredible, Brian, lion willing.