I had one of those moments today when I was talking to my now-teenage daughter and I realized that I’ve officially become my mother.
My daughter, who was trying to make Spring Break plans, asked me if she could go to Six Flags with her friends. I told her that was fine with me, although I wanted to know which of her friends’ parents would be going with them. She hesitated a moment– and didn’t even get an answer out– before it dawned on me that I regularly went to Six Flags—unsupervised—at exactly the age she is now. So why does it seem so much different now that it’s my daughter in question?
Yes, I know that we’re two or three (perhaps more—I refuse to count that high) decades removed from that time. There’s no longer a Disco Island, a Spinnaker, or nausea-inducing Spindle Top. The Shock Wave and the Judge Roy Scream are not the newest, most thrilling rides at the park any more. But for all intents and purposes, it’s still the same place. It’s a whole lotta fun when you’re the person at the park, but when you’re the mom (or dad) waiting at home it can be more than a little nerve-wracking. I mean, that’s my baby out there! And now that I think of it, I seem to recall my parents saying something eerily similar a long, long time ago.
So I guess I’m going to have to suck it up and let my little bird venture out of the nest for a few hours next week– just as long as she’s back before dark. I’m not that brave yet.
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