Daughters

My daughter's voice is so often full of laughter when we talk. Last night, the airspace between the midwest and the northwest expanded with smiles. She has a lot going on: a rehearsal last night, a concert and a formal dance tonight, an all-day research project tomorrow, the impatient waiting on a possible summer job interview, decisions to make about study abroad next year with a deposit due Monday. Lots of juggling and weighing of options.

She and two of her friends have been dress shopping for the formal dance. "Do you have shoes?" I ask. She wears a size 5, so shoes are usually an issue. "Of course!" she says. "The pink shoes I wore to junior and senior prom are right here." Pink shoes for life, I guess. And then she tells me about the shopping.

"It was so funny!" she says. "The stores were full of high school girls looking for dresses. And you know, when you're fourteen or fifteen and you're out shopping, and you see all the older girls trying on dresses and they look so beautiful?"

"And now you're one of those older girls?" I ask. "You don't look so old." (This is the girl at whom airline counter staff look quizzically and say, "You don't have a license yet, do you?")

"Well," she says. "We weren't with our mothers."