A Parenting Landmark

This week my youngest child turns twenty-one. It is a parenting landmark, a survival story with many chapters. I feel fortunate to be here to celebrate the special day with my daughter. There are many memories.

There were a few frightening moments. The potentially fatal pig stampede took place when trying to round up a group of wild swine. They judged the smallest child to be the weakest link in the herding line and they totally flattened the mortified girl, face down in soupy hog manure. Luckily none of it was aspirated into her lungs and the puffy snowsuit she was wearing saved her from any major physical trauma. Helping us corral an evasive cow one day she was partially hurled, but somewhat under her own power, draped upside down over a gate. The cow escaped capture and my little girl miraculously suffered no injuries. Several 4-wheeler events and a car in the ditch on a snowy morning caused some apprehensive moments, and possibly a few more things that a parent may never hear about.

The good times have been many. I’m sure her list is different than mine. She would probably list the birthday parties and trips we took together as a family among her favorite activities. The moments I treasure are the everyday happenings. Evenings in the barn feeding sows with a little plastic bucket and scoop, playing with baby pigs and torturing cats were daily occurrences. Watching her and her sister tromping through mud puddles, climbing in the apple trees, collecting big icicles from the roof edges of various buildings and mastering the knee board down those monster snow piles around the yard were a pleasure to me. Checking the pastures with the 4-wheeler, riding on top of towering loads of square bales, and reading library books in the combine cab provided lots of bonding. I loved to listen to her play that silly sliding song on her trombone. I enjoyed teaching her to sew, though I think she hated it.

I can’t believe it is twenty-one years since the day she was born. It doesn’t seem like that much time has passed. Wasn’t it only a couple of years ago that I watched her get on that big yellow bus to go to school? Didn’t she just take the keys for her first solo drive in the car? Suddenly she’s sending us receipts for tax preparation and worrying about finances.

There are moments when I’d like to reclaim those years. I contemplate baking a cake, covering it with chocolate pudding and setting it in front of her like we did on her first birthday. But most of the time I am grateful that she is grown up, independent and eager to accomplish the goals she has set for herself. What I hate most about her growing older is the inevitable fact that I too have done the same.

By Patsy Bronner