We All Grow Up Sometime
Life passages bring joy and grief, sometimes at the same time, and offer opportunities to examine what we've accomplished or failed to fulfill.
One of my favorite family photos shows my daughter, Val, standing with her arms straight down along her sides, a broad camera smile reflecting the curve of her bill cap. Behind her, a mountain tarn gleams in the August sunshine, a rocky crag mirrored in its surface. Off camera is a rope swing dangling from a fir tree. This testifies that this lovely, pristine lake is actually a teenagers' hangout - the swimming hole - for Val, and her friends.
Her goofy pose belies her twenty-two years. The day this picture was taken, she was leaving for her final year at Chico State University, but first, she wanted to show us someplace special.
So many times, she would jump into her Jeep Wrangler inherited from our fleet of old cars and wave, announcing she was off to play with the boys. She was out the door so quickly, we had no time to call her back to answer our questions: who, what, where, how long, and what do you mean play with the boys?'
This lake was one of many places she'd go, bumping into the woods on a barely passable road, coming to this Eden. On this day, something had changed between the three of us. Today, she led us down this rock-embedded track to a site of her secretive teen years, a place she would hold firmly in her heart. And she wanted to show it to her parents.
Her boys, JoJo and Nicolai, as well as a host of other friends, came of age in Truckee, CA. Some joined her at Chico while others stayed to work in construction or the ski resorts. As I watched her leave on her exploits, I imagined all the things they would do, feeling parental panic, but for a different reason than others would suspect.
Val lost about a dozen friends during our sixteen years in Truckee. A boy she had a crush on died in an avalanche while skiing beyond the barriers. A girl who greeted me with 'Hi Mom" upon our introduction fell off her horse and cracked open her helmeted skull. I only saw her that one day, but I weep every time I think of her spirited greeting. The true horror of it is her sister died exactly the same way in the same place. Their deaths destroyed that family.
Even Val's cousin, who shares her birthday and perhaps an unrevealed fate, fell off a mountain while rappelling and joined legions of young males spending their lives in wheelchairs. Indeed, the day she competed in her first gymkhana, jumping her horse over foot-high oxers, Christopher Reeve fell off his horse. Death hovers closely in this sports-obsessed town.
Over the years, though, I realized I couldn't spend my life chasing her with a net. Many a time when she'd fallen from Abby's back, she'd jump up and chastise the beast before I could get out of my chair. The kid seemed to be made of rubber.
On a more normal level, though, there was the prospect of Sex. Was she? With whom? Did I prepare her? Did she learn enough in that State Requirements class in high school? Was I a good mother? That's what it all boiled down to - did I do my job? Was I wise to rely so much on the State?
In one embarrassing moment I learned she hadn't even mastered signing her own name on a document, so apparently I failed at that! What other holes did I leave gaping in her education?
One of my neighbors had the gall to challenge me on that very aspect when I shared my concerns about Val's independence. "What about her soul?" the woman said. "What ABOUT her soul," I snapped, triggered byp my strict upbringing in a religion that preached you're better off dead than to lose your virginity.
Later, I calmed down and re-examined that question. I would trust whatever god ruled the universe to know what's in our hearts. On the other hand, was Val becoming jaded by the betrayals of cavalier young men? That was something I could get all twisted about. That's what my neighbor meant by her soul.
Occasionally I'd tease Val and her friends when they'd tell me about some guy they liked. "I do hope you're not breeding with this person." My brash retort produced horrified giggles in my attempt to hide my fear of them ending up pregnant and married, in that order, at sixteen. My sister, who had played with the boys far too often, had suffered that fate. I dreaded my daughter following suit; then again, my sister didn't have a Jeep and the attitude to go with it.
Maybe she became Val's poster child for what not to do, the model of teenage stupidity, especially since these girls had learned about condoms and such in that State Requirements class.
My horsy girls lived in a proactive world. Not only did they learn the care and control of half-ton animals, they also took care of themselves. As proof, none of her friends got pregnant … that I know of. In my sister's generation, it was a fad, right along with Jansen sweaters and poodle skirts. Get pregnant, leave school, get married … you're all set.
All set is right!
As my sister stood with the father of her unborn child in her in-laws living room, saying her 'I do's,' her face glowed with the excitement of this new adventure. No wonder Mom was so upset. The girl didn't know what she was in for. And my ten-year-old self couldn't understand why this happy event was so tainted.
In her spirit of independence, Val usually waited until she was inextricably in trouble, the checklist of solutions completely marked off before resorting to calling Mumsy and Dad. An early morning call informed us that she'd gotten the Jeep mired in mud - "but we already called my friend's dad who has a tow truck. I just need money to pay him." At least, Val did all the leg work needed to solve her problems. The sole need for cash was a relief for both her father and me.
As her graduation neared, we all counted the days to total independence. I practiced thinking of her as a woman instead of young woman or my little girl, rolling the word around in my mouth to get the full flavor of it. I daydreamed of sharing our house with an adult. It had been her goal to make lots of money and move on.
To achieve that goal, she planned to go to San Diego where a huge horse community could be mined. I now felt my widowed father's pain remembering him driving a U-Haul truck with bad brakes behind me as I fled, California-bound, across the Great Basin desert. We bid tearful goodbyes as he boarded a plane back home; then I raced back to Santa Cruz to assemble my new life. I wondered how he felt reading my letters reporting this success or that problem. Phone calls every two weeks were all I could afford. I hoped they were enough to show him he hadn't lost his little girl forever.
Each time we visited, we watched each other disappear from view, wondering if we'd ever see each other again. Now I faced the same desolation watching my little girl launch into her next phase.
During this final year of school, though, she revealed more interest in getting to know us as people. She, at least, appeared more interested in family stories. At Christmas, she dragged out the scrapbooks to fill in the gaps in her history. Indeed, she seemed to value her time spent with us a little more than usual. Was she getting cold feet?
One day, she lamented that she didn't want to waste the education we'd paid for by becoming a mother instead of a career woman. I told her how the Baha'i Faith I had once embraced taught that women should go to college because they will be the first teachers of their children. "You don't want uneducated women raising children, do you?"
As I relished her amazed reaction, I hoped I'd scored a few instructional points. That Sex question still bugged me, though. And why? Since she turned eighteen, I'd vowed to trust her and mind my own business. But … but … no … I was not going to turn into my mother, who insisted on guiding my life even after she died. In letters she had written from her deathbed to me, my sister, and my father, she warned and instructed us about what she wanted us to do with our lives. Once read, the letters were discarded, but I can hear Mom laughing whenever Val challenges me as I had done so many times with her.
True to Val's emerging need to share and reveal, she took us barhopping in Chico on the eve of her graduation. As inebriation set in, we talked about her education, especially her sex education, as if it was suddenly important. The whole topic was moot, but I just had to know. Had I done my parental duty?
She smirked and said, "Mom, we never had The Big Talk. We had several little talks. Whatever my age, if I had a question, you would answer it. You'd take a deep breath and say 'well …' and we'd discuss things and then it would be over and we'd move on." So, we had finished her education … at least this portion of it.
That rainy afternoon after her ceremony, I suddenly felt a deep melancholy. Leaving this energetic, youthful phase of her life was a final goodbye to my own youth.
I'd had my own crazy coming-of-age years before marriage. Then, I enjoyed thoroughly my journey of Motherhood with Val, exploring the world through her eyes. Now, as Val's childhood was closing, I stared Cronehood in the face. That was not a role I was ready for yet. I feared being left alone and useless in my dotage.
An hour later, the time had come for us to pull away from this raucous weekend and go home. I hugged her as if she was dying. I wanted to infuse her spirit into my body. She kissed my check and looked at me strangely.
Then her father wrapped himself around her and his shoulders heaved with sobs. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just feel that once you move to San Diego, we'll be forgotten."
I was as amazed by his confession as she was. It wasn't just me feeling this loss.
Despite her assurances she would never forget us and would always need us, we drove home in silence. Grief capped this triumphant weekend. I wondered if this was normal, especially after seeing other families celebrate with festive parties. This rite of passage released us all from the bondage of parental support, didn't it? Our fledglings were on their own now. Bye-bye, birdies!
How could it be that her dad and I had become so pathetic? Of course, we'd see her again. We'd visit, she'd visit. I secretly hoped she wouldn't wait for that last resort moment to call with a problem or need for money.
As her plans for summer employment gelled, we rejoiced she'd return for one more summer as a dude wrangler. She'd be in the neighborhood for a few more months. And yes, she would always need and love us. Next fall, she'd need us to help her move, filling that U-Haul and speeding to her next destination.
History repeats itself. I can hear both my mother and father laughing.
photos by Sue Cauhape unless otherwise identified.
In you enjoyed this poem, feel free to explore other poems, essays, and stories in the Ring Around the Basin Archive. I also love to read your comments, so please share your thoughts. Let’s start a conversation. And if you wish to support my writings, please consider subscribing or upgrading to a paid subscription. It’s now only $50/year.
A lovely family story, Sue. And a beautiful woman you raised -- smart and strong. I do hope she lives near by now. I am so very grateful that my own son never wanted to move away from Santa Cruz. He travels the world and always comes home. Thank all the gods. Beautiful writing, kid.
Oh gosh, just gosh. This story is beautiful from beginning to end. Family is everything. xxx