That speech
Well, it was almost as I said it would be. I told her that I would not cry. Much. And of course mid-sentence, totally unable to get another word out, she edged closer and whispered, ‘You got this dad, breathe’.
What do you say to your daughter on her batmitzvah? What do I need to say, what does she want to hear? For one, scouts honor, from this day forth I am turning off the auto-notifications coming out of my mouth. No more insinuating ...have you brushed your teeth, it’s almost bedtime, avocado is good for you, and what about the tomatoes, ice-cream is not food, no you cannot sleep over at friends who happen to be boys.
That record is officially off the turntable.
There is the usual shtick about coming of age for a young lass, newly responsible for your own choices, expanding your attention gradually from your own immediate wants and needs to include the calling of a needful society, while not exchanging any of your playfulness and curiosity for presumed grownup expectations. A bit wordy all that.
But our wise ancestors recognized thirteen as a pivotal point in our growth, of both the child and the parent. Until then, as a parent, my role had been pushing this expanding ball uphill, cajoling, cuddling, instructing, feeding, socializing, striving to create a better version of myself in my progeny. After puberty, the crest of the hill is finally in sight. That ball we have been shouldering upwards over gym meets and fallen trees, Sunday night blues and rock falls has arrived at a mild plateau. We have provided the momentum. The creation process now shifts gradually to her peers, her internal world, her teachers, her intrinsic interests.
The years of child rearing, in my case it is decades, have been the best years of my life. A labor of love unbound. Parenting, not always fun, but always my primary source of joy. And until my children reached the age of about 13, my purpose has been wrapped up in them, tied to shaping their being, even if only in my own mind. Friendly, considerate humans who live well and believe it is in their power to make our world better. That’s the goal. Of course I am not alone in this endeavor but I give myself to this heartily.
Lily is my last born. And you would think the fourth time around, these bar/batmitzvah speeches would be a cinch. Well it wasn’t. Not at all. I found myself in a quandary. No matter how much I tried to make this all about Lily, I couldn’t help slipping myself into the story. As a main character mind you. Sorry Lily. Not to make this all about me but, well it was.. kinda.
An anecdote that tells the tale. She and I went on a 4-day hike as part of her spiritual adventure. We headed to Toleak Point on the Pacific coast. On the way over, my OneDrive memory magician threw up photos of the same beach, the same day, 10 years ago. There we were, Lily in her little red dress at three years of age and my arms outstretched to catch her with those sandy cheeks as she climbed the driftwood piles. ‘You OK Lils? I got ya!’
Now, ten years on, same beach, Lily all grown and freshly released from her ortho braces. She strides out ahead of me, hidden by her huge backpack. I tentatively scale the tangled driftwood, trying to keep up. Head down and focused so as not to twist anything well-aged and brittle, and a voice calls back to me, ‘You OK dad? Catch up.’
The actual tides are turning too. And when reaching our destination six miles on, Lily settles into her campsite where she will be for two nights. Alone! Waving me away unceremoniously she says, ‘See you in two days dad. Don’t call me unless you are dying. I am good here”.
She was good there. My own rite of passage had begun, letting go of my little girl, trusting her to know and grow and find her way.
See what I mean? All about me? My letting go. My trusting. My journey.
I am graduating from holding my children at the center of my universe, to opening up that center and making space once again. For Lily, well, I trust she has most everything she needs to make wise decisions as she moves through her teens and beyond. Her inner world will mature, she will discover that her feelings and thoughts are like phases of the moon, and not to be worshiped. She will cultivate friendships and a community outside of the family that will become her forest of care.
As for me, come to think of it, even with fifty years between us, I hope to be graduating to that same place. No longer the family sticky notepad. I too graduate to looking inwards more deeply, reaching outwards more compassionately, growing community and banishing my inclination to indifference.
It would be disingenuous of me to leave you thinking that the big day speech was entirely self serving and that Lily was not the main feature. But after all was said and done, she will probably best remember me choking through the last line as I said the obvious, something in any case she knows deep in her bones..
Lily, my girl – I love you, I'm so proud of you, and I'm behind you all the way….(‘very, very long pause), and she saves the day with ‘You got this dad!’ ...forever.
