I was reading Digby’s post on the creepy Purity Ball and it got me to thinking about my own relationship with my daughter, the oft-mentioned lovely and talented Casey. Casey is an only child and, as such, has had the full undivided attention of both her mother, the delicious and Superbad mrs tbogg, and myself. Until her mother made her move to Santa Barbara, living there during the week and coming home on weekends, we were pretty much an inseparable trio. Since we don’t live in an area with many kids and Casey went to private school miles from the house, Casey has pretty much always been around us all of the time. Weekdays being dropped off and picked up at school, evenings doing homework, and weekends at soccer games or baseball or at the zoo or whatever. In many ways (with a few obvious exceptions), we’re the family that the Maggie Gallaghers of the world would like all families to be like.
I look back now and in many ways I can’t remember all the stages Casey has gone through. When she changed from baby to toddler. From toddler to kid. From kid to adolescent. But I do remember the day when it hit me that she was growing up and she wasn’t my little girl anymore. I think she was about eleven and we were coming home from dinner one night and, with her mother bringing up the rear, Casey and I got to the door well ahead of her. The porch light was off and I was fumbling with my keys trying to get them in the lock. I dropped them and as I bent over to pick them up, I heard my precious angel say:
“Would you hurry up. I’ve gotta pee like a racehorse.”
Now if that doesn’t bring a lump to your throat, nothing will….