Change. It's as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun, but it's not always welcome, in fact it can be most unwelcome, depending on the circumstances. Let me explain.
My daughter Savanna, who is seven years old, holds a very special place in my heart. When she was just a little tot she developed something called septic hip, and though it's very common in children it requires surgery and anesthesia and all the worry and anxiety that go along with hospital stays. One of the most heart wrenching things in my life was seeing my little baby being wheeled into an operating room. Her surgery went well and she was back to normal in a couple of days, but the experience left me (and my wife as well) very protective of her, probably too much in some ways.
Not long afterwards Savanna got a little stuffed elephant for a present that she decided to name Ellie. At night, instead of reading a bedtime story I would lay on Savanna's bed with her and I would become Ellie. Holding the toy and using my best female voice imitation, we would talk about foreign places, do math problems, do dance moves, make up rhymes, and always tell each other what we were going to dream about, usually some exotic trip to a foreign land. Ellie became a part of the family, and a nightly ritual as soon as my wife had tucked Savanna in, for no sooner did my wife clear the bedroom door I'd hear "daddy" and in I would go and Savanna would hand me Ellie and we we're off on another adventure.
A couple of nights ago, after Savanna had called me, I went and got on the bed with her, but something was different, and you could feel the difference but not immediately understand why or where it had come from. I asked her where Ellie was, and she pointed to the chair in her room, and then she pulled out a little stuffed monkey from under her sheets. I asked her why Ellie was in the chair, and she said she had asked her mom if she had to sleep with Ellie every night and her mom said she could sleep with whatever she wanted to. She said she wanted me to be the monkey, but we both knew it wasn't the same, like baby boomers trying to reinvent their youth, the suit just doesn't fit the same anymore.
The change had a surprisingly profound effect on me, because, you see, it dawned on me that my little girl was growing up. Putting Ellie in the chair wasn't just a change in sleep toys, it was a first timid step at independence. The slow seperation of a child from the protectiveness of her parents had begun. The nightly ritual begun so many years before was over in an instant, the special bond played out in nightly bedtime adventures now a lost treasure that can only be found in remembrance.
It made me think of some lyrics you're probably familiar with,
Time makes you bolder,
Children grow older,
And I'm growing older too.
from the song Landslide.
And that's why the change was so unwelcome, because as I look back on it now I know those precious moments we spent each night are gone, replaced with mixed feelings of joy at seeing a daughter come of age and sadness at knowing her innocence of youth is soon to be exposed to the darker and harsher sides of life. And also knowing that I won't be able to protect her or shield her from those very things, knowing that she has to experience them on her own, knowing she has to grow up just as all of us do. Man, I miss Ellie.
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