We're looking straight ahead as we talk, not looking at each other.
Eye contact with someone you're speaking with who's sitting next to
you when you're driving obviously isn't an option.
Then the conversation goes quiet for a moment. It's not a
missing. It's not an awkward moment. Given we're about to
say goodbye to each other, I expected one or more of these. But
this isn't that. It's just a quiet moment. Actually it's a very
full quiet moment. It's beautiful. It occurs to me it's
triumphant. And that's when I briefly take my eyes off the
road, turn to my right, and look at her.
She's looking ahead and doesn't notice me looking at her like this.
What I see is the face of a woman. Not a baby. Not a girl. A woman.
The bones of her face aren't shaping her look like a child anymore.
Her hair has a sophisticated, stylish cut beyond bangs
and a pony tail. The clothes she's wearing, the fashionable
fedora on her head tilted slightly to one side speaks
pertinently of her graduation "from crayons to perfume". I
see her eyes have seen things which matter. I see her
lips have spoken things which count. I'm in a kind of a
dream, a haze as I realize my baby girl has grown up. This girl is
a woman now, and it takes my breath away sitting here noticing it,
letting the full impact of her
Seeing her this way, experiencing her this way is
into my mind forever - an indelible memory.