She’s gazing at five girls who have taken over the upstairs deck of the bus. Their conversation is thick with posturing, bad-mouthing of boys, sharing of cell phone photos, discussions of upcoming parties, and, alas for me, scatological humor. I wonder about conversations I’ll be listening to as my daughter leaves the insulation of home. I wonder about the conversations I won’t be privy to.
I think about the longings of young adult life, of the dark passageways and of the ties teenagers form –loose knots that are imperiled by the faintest of breezes. I remember my own yearning to be someone else, a part of something else, to be like a particular idol. Maybe her youth will be a gentler passage than mine. Where is it written that our early years are marred by rivalry and exclusion and a raw hunger for a different set of physical traits?
Is it time to let go? And if so, can I still hold on?