What a Difference a Day Makes:
Seeing
My Daughter as a Young Adult Lady
Recently, my daughter and our family
experienced a major American rite of passage. We traveled to the American South
to move her into her college dormitory. She successfully transferred into the
school that she greatly desired to attend, the University of North Carolina at
Chapel Hill. Founded in 1789, the year that coincides with the founding of the
American federal republic, UNC Chapel Hill is the oldest public university in
the United States. It is one of the crown jewels of American higher education. Beyond
its endless list of distinctions and accolades borne of two hundred and
thirty-three years of progressively qualitative education in the liberal arts,
natural sciences and emerging fields, it is the school that is right for my
daughter. After the brisk passage of the summer months, the first Friday in
August dawned.
We awoke to frustrating and regrettable
news that the airline had cancelled our meticulously scheduled flights. My
daughter, my wife and I separately called the airlines and vacation vendors to
salvage our departure time. Initially, their personnel rebuffed us with
arrogance, indifference and extremely poor customer service. Our three hours of
persistence yielded a delay of five and a half hours from our original
departure time. Our excitement did not wane. We secured the house and completed
our last-minute packing before the Uber arrived. Thirty minutes later, we put
our bags on curbside at the City’s larger airport. Then, we navigated the
revolving doors to begin the trek of paying for claimed bags and passing
through security. This part of air travel disillusions the most optimistic
person. It seems like a full-time job to take off your shoes, remove your belts
and watches, empty your pockets, take off any jackets, fleeces or sweatshirts,
take out your computers, tablets, keys and phone, put them in plastic bins and
wait to pass through scanning machines. Exasperation increases as the people
before you in line move ever so slowly. The TSA agents appear lackadaisical.
You feel as if there must be a better way of ensuring the security of airline
passengers. Finally, to your pleasant and anticlimactic surprise, you surmount
these challenges with a silent and personal pledge to drive next time
regardless of the distance. Once you arrive at the gate are, you simply face
another set of traveling hurdles.
At the gate, we encountered persons who
used more space than they needed. They laid their bags, food and other
belongings across a few chairs thereby preventing families like ours from
sitting together. Some parents failed to watch and discipline their children who
ran rambunctiously around the seats as if they were on a playground. I had the
misfortune of sitting next to a guy who was using his phone to reinforce music
and vocal lessons. I surmised that he had embarked upon a losing cause as his
voice and the music sounded irrefutably incongruent. The disciplines of time,
practice and affirmations could not remedy that situation. Inexplicably, I
failed to ask him to stop. Was I too afraid to do so? Did I not wish to cause a
disturbance? Did I fear offending this man? My irritation certainly fueled
these thoughts even though I failed to act upon them. Nonetheless, our boarding
time came after a day of delays and other comedies of error. As we stood in
line, I glanced at my daughter whom I still saw as my “Baby Girl,” an older
adolescent. That thought and image of her continued throughout the flight. It
was as if we were leaving her for an extended stay at summer camp. Upon arrival
at the Raleigh Durham Airport, I would have a mystical moment in which I irreversibly
saw her in a new light.
The epiphany that my adolescent
daughter is now a young adult collegian occurred in the baggage claim area. I
chose to stand near the luggage carousel and retrieve the one bag that she
tagged. As I waited for her formidable green suitcase holding a semester’s
worth of clothes, I glanced over to my daughter to confirm that I was about to
take the right bag. In that instant, I no longer saw a girl but an adult
collegian. In that moment, I realized that my “Baby Girl” had grown up and become
a young woman. Then, I thought about the trip. I left the City with my older
adolescent daughter. I arrived five states later with a young collegian. What a
difference a day makes. Prior to that flight, she passed the road test and
obtained her driver’s license. She began to drive herself to work. Her initiative-taking
means of getting to work were an outgrowth of her fierce work ethic. Her
diligence in her studies in high school and her first year and a half at
another college culminated in her successful transfer to UNC Chapel Hill. There
are additional achievements that attest to her inner fortitude, determination,
ambition, intelligence and gifts. These personal, academic and work
accomplishments are fruit of her maturity and preparation for that flight on
the first Friday in August. Indeed, I looked across the baggage claim area and
saw my young adult daughter, a second-year collegian, and not the vulnerable
toddler who latched onto my legs during speaking engagements. Not surprisingly,
memories of her first days of childcare, kindergarten and school, her learning
to ride a bike, her high school choral performances, her coming to the car at
the end of a party and a thousand other reflections flooded my mind for an instant.
Those images disappeared into the sands of time and yielded to the present
canvass which depicted a young lady who is ready to complete her collegiate
career and embark upon her personal and professional path.
During the next two days, we were in
and out of Target, Wal-Mart, Belk Lindsey, Bed Bath & Beyond and other
stores. We saw numerous families who were fellow pilgrims on this journey of
accepting a new normal in the parent and child relationship and readjustment of
family composition and living arrangements. Intermittently, we stopped and
feasted upon delicious Southern cuisine including fried okra, barbecue, sweet
potato biscuits, cheesy grits, “real” bacon and an assortment of cakes and pies
particularly peach. My son and I did the dutiful heavy lifting and cleaning. We
wiped each inch of the walls on her side of the room. She insisted upon a redo
of the shower and bathroom though the university facilities staff had done a
respectable job. In the early afternoon on Monday, it was evident that we had fully
moved her into her room. We would leave her to decorate her side of the room
with her distinctive style and flare. From her elementary school days, she possesses
a gift of design, fashion, space and color coordination. The moment of finality
arrived. I am proud of myself in that I did not cry. My daughter had a joyous
smile on her face. Her happiness and excitement overshadowed any silent sadness,
anxiety or apprehension. In that instant, I hugged her tightly and said, “Baby
Girl, I am so proud of you. I am so proud of you.” I then turned and left the
room to allow her brother and mother their private moment. In that moment, I
realized that I did not leave an adolescent on the other side of the door but a
young adult collegian.
The pride of the Chapel Hill community
is unparalleled and infectious. Though I am a loyal alumnus of my alma mater,
I find myself essentially cheerleading for my daughter’s school. My pride in
her and her achievements spill over into conversations with my relatives,
friends and contemporaries. It also morphs into raucous enthusiasm for the
school. A trip to the student store punctuated my newfound feeling for UNC
Chapel Hill. It further crystalized my reflections on this post. I did not buy
any clothing, car decals, hats or decorative ware. The one item that I had to buy
was a mug which reads, “Carolina Dad.”
