My
baby went trick-or-treating this year. My baby is seventeen. And I
have no problem with that.
I
imagine, based on a lot of argument I see in cyberspace, that she was
not appreciated everywhere she went. I don't know what the
appropriate age is when neighbors cease to see you as a kid. I know I
haven't. That's what mattered to me most that night, I guess.
Oh
yes, I also see her as an adult. I see the sophisticated sense of
humor, the compassionate concern for real world problems, the coming
alongside her parents as a partner more every day.
But
I also see the little girl playing dress up, and the Disney-watching
princess. I see the fear of being sent into a big world still feeling
like a little girl. I see the need to hold on to childhood traditions
as childhood itself flits away. I feel the need as well.
It's
not about the candy. OK, maybe it is when it's a full-sized Three
Musketeers. Who can blame a kid? (Especially when I'll take half of
that.) It's about being a kid. It's about remembering all the other
Halloween nights and all the other costumes and all the other
friends, some gone and some remaining at your side, who have traipsed
those streets with you over the years.
It's about a moment in time
when you can pretend you're someone else. In this case, you can
pretend you're something other than a hatchling adult, teetering on
the edge of an unknown future.
She
knows next year she will be the adult handing out the candy. She
knows it. I know it. Just tonight, let us pretend it isn't so. Let us
play dress up one more time. Let mommy see her princess (or swan, as
it was this year) in Neverland one more time. Then, tell us it's
time. But not before.
1 comment:
I'm missing my daughter. She is seventeen--and almost an 8 hour car drive away at college this year. My other one didn't trick-or-treat for the first time this year. I went trick-or-treating in college. It was fun to be a kid again. Your daughter looks really pretty in her swan costume--and thanks (sarcasm implied) for making me cry--jk.
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