Year of Tears

Okay, so it is September and my oldest daughter and I went to get her senior pictures taken a few weeks ago. She insisted that I needn't escort her.....ahummm....and I insisted that I needed to. She rolled her eyes a couple of hundred times, adamant that she wasn't a baby anymore. Since I had the cash and the keys to the car, I won out. Don't you love "feeble" power?

We arrive and we see a girl that knows my daughter. They both covertly wave, and I ask, "Who is that?" She quickly mumbles,"No one," while picking up pace to try and ditch me before we enter the studio.

Catching up I say, "Well, that 'No One' just said hello to you." Again she rolls her eyes and assures me that I don't know her. I don't tell her this, but I'm pretty aware of "who" I know and don't know, but this information is nebulous, and would only be met with further eye weaponry. The next half hour continues on this path- me embarrassing her by my mere presence and her pretending as if she'd rather me not be there. I tease her and tell her I want her to hold her newspaper articles (she's the editor and chief of her school newspaper, after all) in the "Personal Touch" senior photos. We both laugh, knowing that this is an absurd request as we giggle at the pictures advertised on the wall of swimmers firmly holding medals, or teens clad in Indian headdresses.

We enter the studio and are greeted by a man with a heavy accent whose only access to creativity is a plastic rose on the edge of a white, foam, Greek column. When he places the rose delicately next to my daughters dark nail polished fingers, she and I glance at each other and laugh, and we can't stop- which makes for some rather stunning pictures-despite the rose.

Finally, my daughter puts on the cap and gown for the final photos. As she moves the tassel over, I am awed at her poise and presence. She looks at me and I see that she is beautiful. I am sniffling, and trying to stop the tears, but she notices and is surprisingly tender. She smiles with an, "Oh Mama...it's just a picture." She leans on the Greek column as the photographer snaps a few more pictures. I am caught in this still life, for just a moment. Through tears we both smile knowingly, about who the baby really is.

I explain to her later over a nice lunch of tofu and vegetables (she's a vegetarian!!!), that it's going to be the "Year of Tears" and there is nothing she can do to stop it. I can't help it; I feel I've earned this "Right of Passage." Later we shop and as I try to lose myself in the store, she finds me and asks for my help. She hugs me and holds my hand and I again feel a deep sense of warmth.

What I come away with is the realization that despite all the troubles that come with having a 17 year old-I love my eye rolling, try-to-ditch-me, vegetarian-kick-my-meat eating-chops teen. Even if she talks to "nobody" and waves at "no one!" In the end, at the commemoration of this senior year, she's my medal of honor and I'll hold her proud.... as our camera keeps flashing.