Footloose
July 27, 2006
7:26 a.m.
Brigid has spent the past four and a half weeks up at Northwestern University getting herself all smarted out. She's seventeen now. She can take care of herself. Brigid is our only child, meaning we're not real parents per Bill Cosby's definition. Regardless of that, Lisa and I have treated this as a trial run for next year when Brigid will leave for college. I admit there are some nice things about being just a couple again. We've done a lot less chauffeuring and arranging calendars. We have less spur of the moment disruptions to deal with. Of course, I don't think we pass the full test. We're not ready for her to be gone. She's in our conversation most nights at dinnertime. She comes up in movies we see, as in "Brigid would like this," or "I can't tell if she would have any interest in that." We wait for the phone to ring. It doesn't, of course. Brigid is apparently void of the gene that is so active in most teens--she's never been too fond of talking on the phone. We wait for e-mail, which is like rain in the Mojave. Joy, though, came yesterday in the form of a long, rambling note from her. She's having a great time. She's learning a lot--calculus this time, something that makes her math-major mother's heart go all putter-patter. She's being social--too social, if you ask me. Which, I note, neither her nor her mother have done. Her program had dance lessons recently, she reported. They learned steps that I've not heard of before, but, the way she described them, I'm pretty certain I don't like. This is bad, right? Please go with me on this. Teenagers dancing and cavorting and having a Footloose time are just fine when it's Kevin Bacon and crew, or when it's me, but when it's my daughter... Yeesh.   Anyway, I wrote again today. Good progress. Have a great day.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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