I’ve learned a word since the new school year started: forthcoming. Like in a school’s “homecoming” but for a new school, when there’s no alumni to come home. It’s Megan’s first year in high school, and it happens to be a brand new school. So this year instead of celebrating Homecoming, they celebrated Forthcoming. And don’t worry, the massive only-in-Texas mums are still the same.
We went to the Homecoming, er, Forthcoming game last night, and it was exciting as usual. (God bless Texas high school football.) But it was also a little sad. Because instead of being down in the student section hamming it up with the other kids, she was in “old farts” section with the rest of the parents, hanging out with me and her sister, dateless and mumless. And, well, I felt a little bad for her.
I guess I should be the stereotypical shotgun-toting overprotective father threatening any boy’s life who dares even glance at my little princess. And yeah, believe me, the thought of her going on a real date with a boy and, well, doing teenage boy-girl stuff scares the hell out of me. But at the same time, I hate seeing her by herself without a group of friends to hang out with and be crazy with. She’s in high school, I tell myself. She should be with her friends, experiencing it. It’s gonna fly by so fast. Go, get out there. Have fun. Not too much fun, but an appropriate amount of fun.
I don’t know, maybe it’s just me projecting my own regrets on her. Some of my fondest high school memories were in the stands of the football games with my friends. Of course, in my case I was in a marching band uniform and didn’t really have much of a choice. But it was fun nevertheless, and I just don’t want her to miss out. And I suppose I also don’t want her to be like me, incredibly shy and always on the outside while everyone else was busy going to dances and stuff. I didn’t even go on my first date until I was a senior in high school (to the Homecoming dance, fittingly) and chose to work instead of going to prom.
But then, I have to remember that everyone matures at a different pace, and she’s still just 14 (even though she looks so much older). In a lot of ways, she’s still a kid, and I love that about her. I’ve always said that I would never push my kids to grow up faster than they’re ready, but I’m worried I might be doing that now. Trust me, it won’t be long before I’ll need that shotgun after all, and I’ll be begging to go back to the days she still in the parent section with me. And yes, it’s absolutely gonna go fast. In less than four years she’ll be graduating high school. It really does seem like just yesterday a little preschool-aged Meggie was hanging on to my leg while I was shopping and an older man said to me, “Enjoy that. It’s goes by too quick.” Yes, sir, it does. It really does.
When I was Megan’s age, my mom must’ve also had this same crisis of parenting, because one day she decided that I was too old for toys (“They’re action figures, mom.”) and made me toss ’em. Out to the curb. Everything, except for whatever I could salvage. Tons of Star Wars and G.I.Joe toys that today are worth a crapload of money. I hated her it and honestly never really forgave her. And not only that, but I was subsequently embarrassed and ashamed to still have and play with the toys I had left. I had to hide them from her, from everybody. They had become taboo, a shameful secret that I couldn’t ever let anyone else in on. But in reality, there was nothing wrong with still being a boy while also being a teenager. Why would there be? Teens are these weird mutant hybrids caught between being children and being adults. They’re not really either one, yet they’re both at the same time. So why try to rush the process? Let them be children when that part of them comes to the surface. One day they’ll put away the childish things on their own.
So while I would love to see Meg hanging out in the student section with her friends, soaking up every drop of high school while she has a chance, it’s really not up to me. This is her journey. I’m just glad I get to be a part of it.