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Cutting the Cord
By James M. Janik
Yesterday, my 16-year-old daughter calmly informed me that she wanted her friends along at her soccer game. At first I thought she meant she wanted her friends to come along with us. I was wrong. She wanted only her friends along. This after I'd rushed home from a meeting to accompany her to the game.
There are many points in life at which re-evaluations are required. Watching my daughter walk off to school that first day of kindergarten was one. Waving good-bye as she left on her first real date was another. More recently, seeing her back out of the driveway in my Chevy Blazer triggered the same realization.
Somehow, though, this last point of change hit me hardest. I wasn't wanted. From her own mouth.
Had I been too pushy? Had I turned into one of those obnoxious parents, yelling and cursing from the grandstands? Were my expectations for my daughter too high? My pointing out areas in need of improvement too quickly?
No, on all counts. I watched my daughter play soccer because I took serious joy in seeing my little girl perform something she obviously loved doing. I cheered for her when she did something great and felt her pain when she did not. But I was never obnoxious. Proud, yes; obnoxious, never.
Like most parents, I can remember putting her to bed each night. I recall her tiny fingers wrapped around mine as her heavy eyelids sagged toward dreamland. I stood next to her crib until my back ached and my knees wobbled, patiently waiting for her to drift off enough for me to gently pull my finger from her sweaty grasp.