Wednesday Maddie turned 17. Sounds so grown up. Most of our friends with kids the same age spent the last two school breaks touring the east coast and Southern California colleges. They’ve spent money and time on SAT prep, college counseling, and just getting through the eternally stressful junior year. Some are launching their kids in the fall, anxiously counting the days until their babies fly the coop.
Yesterday, on the 17th anniversary of her birth, Maddie showed me the insecure young person inside and the socially savvy young lady that also resides within her. I never know what side I’m going to see.
A few weeks ago Maddie’s wonderful tutor Kim suggested they see a Giants game together to celebrate the end of the school year. A look at the Giants’ schedule pointed them to a day game which happened to fall on Maddie’s birthday. I wanted Maddie to do whatever made her happy and at the time it seemed like a great idea. Looking back I think I was in denial at best, and just straight up stupid at worst. This was in fact a mistake whose full terribleness would not rear its ugly head until that morning.
First of all, this plan involved me having to wake Maddie up. It has been established that this is to be avoided whenever possible. Waking her up to go somewhere or do something, even something ostensibly appealing, is fraught with emotion and fear for me. I think I fake it rather well, but even a failed first attempt sends tensions throughout my body and I feel my heart clench. I breathe deeply to remain calm, but I’m immediately almost ready to give up. The problem that morning was that I had bought ferry tickets, so the arrival time mattered. The Giants game ferry really does complete the experience, but it adds significant time and eliminates flexibility. Anyway, I feel like this alone doomed this notion to failure.
Second, Maddie was sleep deprived. For some reason sleeping didn’t go well the night before. Maybe, as it turns out, she was anxious. I also know she was up at 3:00 a.m. because I, too, was up at that time searching for a cough drop when I felt a light tap on my back (DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN! I said). She was mid-allergy-attack and looking for a Zyrtec.
So at the start, we had two strikes against us.
And then, the tears. She was tired, she said. She was trying so hard to power through, but, tragically, on her birthday, she wasn’t able to cope. Her tutor, Kim, used her magical skills to try to turn it around. And in fact there was magic because although Kim ended up leaving our house, alone, in her Giants gear, there was a breakthrough. Maddie realized she just didn’t feel comfortable doing this new, out-of-the-norm thing with her tutor. She would go to the game, but only with me. The tears were from fatigue, to be sure, but also from insecurity about this new situation. This girl whom I think of as fearless isn’t in fact fearless. She’s often so brave, but the sense of being able to be in the world without her safety net (me!) is sometimes fragile.
So in her usual way, she inhabited a young child and a mature person in the same moment. Her anxiety came from insecurity, fear of the unknown, fear of feeling untethered, her inability to imagine herself through the what-ifs into a mental picture of success. And yet (and this is even more significant me) she was able to access her feelings and the reasons behind them, and then ask for what she wanted. Such a huge achievement for this kid!
And so, as it should have been all along, I took my daughter to a Giants game for her birthday. Once we arrived at this conclusion, I let go of my stress and just went with it. I ditched my long list of errands, cancelled a salon appointment, packed up my sunscreen and a hat, and off we went. It was too late for the ferry (the ship had in fact sailed by that point), so we hopped in the car and headed across the bridge. The fretting was over. Time to jump into this surprise of a day.
The Giants were terrible. But the day was beautiful and due to a lack of forethought on my part, we had tickets behind the opponents’ dugout, which put us in a sea of Kansas City fans. And that, my friends, turned out to be great! As the numbers on the scoreboard became more and more lopsided, the crowd around us erupted in cheers. They were having fun, and so were we. The couple next to Maddie was visiting California from their home state of Missouri, following their beloved baseball team around the state. They were so friendly, offering to buy Maddie treats for her birthday and engaging in conversation. We talked about all of the wonderful things you can do here in San Francisco, and Maddie asked, “Have you been to Muir Woods?”
Well, that might not seem like a big deal to you, but it sure was to me. Such an appropriate and normal thing to say! She was engaged and conversational! And she asked a relevant and meaningful question, given that we live not far from there. And when the husband repeatedly and enthusiastically offered to buy her a frozen lemonade in honor of her birthday, she politely and gratefully declined several times before finally admitting “Lemonade isn’t my thing.” I felt like a million bucks. My daughter who struggled in the morning, who seemed like a child afraid to be too far from her mother, was out in the world acting her age. Only a parent of a special needs kid would feel like jumping up and down because their kid said something appropriate.
Much to my surprise, we stayed for the entire game (well, almost). It was hot out there in the sun, and she hadn’t really been paying much attention to what was happening on the field (really, who does at a baseball game?), but although I repeatedly informed her that everything was up to her, she was happy to stay. We bought at Pence jersey (“I don’t know who any of these guys are,” she said when shopping for jerseys. “Then just pick a number you like,” I said.) and a big orange foam finger and garlic fries.
In the end, I would call this day a success. But it wasn’t easy. Sometimes I’m reminded in no uncertain terms of the challenges my daughter faces. Sometimes I’m not reminded but instead learn something entirely new. My brave, strong kid can still be a frightened young child inside. She can still struggle to know what she’s feeling, and when she is able to not only identify it but also verbalize it, it’s a small victory. I can’t even think about college, or next year, and sometimes not even tomorrow. It’s enough, quite often, to be surprised minute by minute.
Recently my sister recounted a moment with her teenage daughter. They are both musicians, and my sister has been playing more regular gigs. After a recent performance, “You inspire me,” her daughter began, and my sister’s heart swelled with pride. “To eat ice cream,” the sentence concluded.
“That was a rollercoaster of a comment,” I replied.
And that is precisely how I feel. A single moment with Maddie, a single utterance, can encapsulate a high and a low, both a pleasant surprise and a slap-in-the-face reminder of the challenges we face.
But still, as of yesterday, my daughter is 17. That is 17 years of her becoming this complicated young lady, and 17 years of my own growth into the mother, and person, I am today.
The Year of Living Hopefully 