I don’t know why it surprises me that she has spectacular taste. She gets it from me. She was born reaching for the classic, but she can rip her jeans if the need arises.
Sometimes, I don’t figure it out until I’m at the keyboard. I just realized why they won’t wear their hair down… Sorry. That’s another post. What was I saying?
She is so mad at me, right now, she cannot see out of her eyes. And I’m going around the house trying to hide little outbursts of tears because I said I’d rather she be mad at me than let a situation go on unreviewed. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I was talking about. I have to let her be mad. And it is wonderful and terrible.
It is wonderful, because I get to support her in a way that is bigger and better than just screaming “Chicken Leg!!!” from the side of the track.
It is terrible, because I don’t have a crystal ball. She’s going to have to have her own 16 year-old before she gets it.
It was a risk. Kind of like when people are running across the tops of buildings, in the movies and they come to the edge and have to jump. I jumped.
I’m not dead. Yet.
Here’s the deal. Be all the kinds of mad you want to be.
I have lived longer.
So I’ve seen a thing or two.
A thing or two that I never want you to know about.
I know that God can redeem,
but it’s so much faster to obey.
You’ve never had your heart broken.
When I say I don’t want that to happen to you, I know what I want you to dodge.
It takes longer than 2 hours and 17 minutes.
It takes the rest of your life, really. As far as I can tell.
So, it was worth it. I guess. To love you enough to make you mad. To connect face to face with someone who agrees totally. To trade my own convenience and your excitement today for the chance at forever.
There will be intermittent crying today. And believe me when I say, it hurts me more than it hurts you.
If I end up having to get some Haagen-Dazs and watch the Family Stone;
Better me, than you.