Growing Up
August 15, 2002
7:23 a.m.
The plan was that I would be nearing the end of a short story. Lo and behold, that's what I'm doing. Next week should see the end of the second novel rewrite. Then there's WorldCon   This happened a couple days ago. Lisa was driving. I was in the passenger seat. Brigid, who is thirteen, but is really close to fourteen, and metaphorically close to twenty, was in the back. The time of day was evening with a little light of the day still hanging around. We were stopped at a red light when a shiny red pick-up truck stopped beside us. This was not a normal beat-up pickup we often see in the heartland of Indiana. It was a Dodge Sport, very clean, but idling just a little rough. White fuzzy dice hung from the rear view mirror and modern hip-hop came from the cabin. I'm certain it had never seen the middle of a corn field or hauled a load of rocks in its short life. The driver was a kid. I mean. He looked like he was all of eleven years old. Short blonde hair with nary a visible eyebrow, eyes hooded in the "I'm so cool" way, T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and the material curling at the edges. I was just thinking about how great it was to be that age when it happened... The boy slowly, coolly, so smooooooooothly turned his head our way, and briefly scoped out my innocent little thirteen year old daughter sitting so comfortably in our back seat. At first I was shocked. Stymied. What the heck do I do? Then I was curious. Did Brigid notice? How would she react. Before I could have a different reaction, the event was over. The boy turned his attention to the road and the light changed and we separated. Brigid never mentioned anything, and in fact I assume she was reading or whatever. I was left with my thoughts and a hundred strange emotions running through my mind and my body. We keep thinking that it's only Brigid that's growing up, you know? But moments like those let me know that I've got a ways to go myself.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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