Itty Bits and Pieces: Not just any regular day

This year her birthday will be on a Wednesday.

Just like any old day. Except that on this particular Wednesday, at the exact time of 7:14 p.m., she will be celebrating her 16th year with her high school chorus and probably about two hours of homework, just like any other Wednesday in December, with the exception of Christmas.

She doesn’t want to turn 16. Not like that.

She wants 16 to turn her. Like magic.

Hollywood probably has some role to play in this understanding of the significance of a sweet sixteen. Why was hers so sour? I understood. How could I not?

Sixteen is supposed to be magical.

It’s supposed to bring about big changes.

But she doesn’t feel any different.

And to add insult to injury, she’ll have to share

her big moment with her high school winter concert and her little brother’s second-ever Modified wrestling match about an hour away.

Not even her clothes will be special, as the scheduled arrival of her hearts’ desired attire has been incrementally pushed from on time to some time into the New Year. She can thank her Christmas birthday for the shipping delays, but I can see from her expression that she is really trying hard not to thank me with a a thick slather of sarcasm.

For her, the dash to maturity is taking forever. Everything about it requires perseverance akin to waiting patiently for slow-drying paint.

It is a perspective that will

eventually turn around in a whirlwind.

Like my estimation of time, which determines that her growing up has happened in the blink of an eye.

I don’t want her to turn 16 either, though it’s more a belief than desire.

It’s hard to believe that much time has already passed.

In the greatest cliche of parental understandings, I can’t imagine ever feeling that she wasn’t just born yesterday.

The memories of her “newness” don’t seem to spring from any distance at all.

I can still feel the contractions. I can picture the rush of snow against the car’s

windshield on the drive to the hospital. I can still hear the jangle of alarm sounds on the heart rate monitor that brought a flurry of nurses to my bedside to jostle us back into a normal rhythm.

Even then, she didn’t want to make a simple “entrance.”

Who would if given a choice?

Not her.

She’s the child who practically stood up upon arrival in this world.

She was the child who made herself known whenever she made an entrance… especially on her birthday.

When else will a person be able to wear a princess gown if not on their birthday?

That truth should be selfevident even when styles change.

But it’s not about the clothes. It’s not even about reality as much as it is about recalibrating expectations. It’s really not just any old day.

I can’t imagine those feelings will ever recede, no matter how old we get.

I can only assume all these things I remember can only be made more unforgettable by time.