This morning, I received a text from my
fifteen-year-old daughter stating, simply,
"I can see the castle!!!"
Those words heralded her arrival to Disney World in
Orlando, and I was insanely excited for her. Having never visited
anywhere "Disney", I am also a bit envious... as is her younger
sister. We attempt to take comfort in the idea that the elder daughter
will act as scout for a family visit sometime in the future.
In the meantime, however, I'm thrilled to death
that my growing-up-way-too-fast girl is off on such an adventure. She
will be performing with her high school band this week at the theme park, and
while that performance is the main reason for the trip, it is also filled with
lots of new experiences, sights and fun. Selling cookie dough and candles, wrapping paper and kitchenware via fundraisers for three years, and working a Saturday job sorting eggs at a
local chicken farm since December, helped to pay her way to Orlando.
So, in addition to being insanely excited for her,
I'm ridiculously proud of her. My shameless pride stems, in
part, from the fact that of her very own accord, she packed my adventure
sandals in her bag for the trip.
This girl of mine is very down-to-earth and tends
to live in jeans, grey hoodies and sneakers. Shopping is not a favorite
pastime of hers, and since she is disinclined to ask for anything at all for
herself, we oftentimes find ourselves on the brink of an impending event,
scrambling to find her some proper attire. Or, as in this case, footwear.
As she was packing for this trip, I raided my own
closet and deposited my fairly scant sandal collection at her feet. In
doing so, I pointed out the pros and cons of each pair, i.e. "cute but
relentless devices of torture until you get used to them" or
"comfortable but not up to the demands of walking all day on hot
pavement."
Then, however, we got to the adventure sandals.
Those kicks are an old pair of leather Borns,
approximately the same vintage as my traveling daughter. They are comfortable,
sturdy, all-day walk-able, and they have served me well. Despite many
attempts to find suitable (and possibly, more chic) replacements, I've never
found a more comfortable, serviceable pair.
Those sandals have stories.
They've boarded the crazy, smoke-belching city
buses in Puerto Vallarta which race pell-mell through the streets, clad with
the sort of oversize tires one would expect on a pickup running a mud bog.
Thankfully, they've safely disembarked those same buses.
They have booze-cruised, whale watched, and sailed the coastlines of Mexico, Jamaica, and three Hawaiian islands. They've
dangled from a doors-off helicopter ride over Kauai, been to luaus, peered from
the summit of Haleakala and explored the depths of the Iao Valley. They have
trod the markets and quietly caressed my feet as I've haggled with vendors,
walked the length of the Vegas strip and back again, perched on the dash of the
rented Jeep with Sheryl Crow trilling about "soaking up the sun" as
we've cruised the Maui coastline, played in the sand with my daughters on
Waikiki.
My adventure sandals have been fishing, barbecuing,
fireworks and parade watching, flea-marketing, road-tripping, bon-fire tending and
Jamaican-dancing. (Thank you Lord, for the lack of video cameras in the
vicinity on that last one.) Speaking of dancing, they've danced to Garth
Brooks in Jamaica and to LMFAO on Kauai and to the Beach Boys on the swaying
deck of a Mexican charter boat and... I digress.
The point is that it wasn't just a worn old pair of
sandals that my daughter decided to pack in her bulging suitcase.
It was
a part of me that I've passed on to her... a sense of adventure, a gypsy soul,
a "let's do this" attitude, a practicality vs. fashion statement
sensibility (after all, its no fun to be sidelined by blistered feet; been there,
done that, got the t-shirt, not-going-back). The best part is that my daughter made the choice, not me. I left them as an option, then left the room. Upon my return, my adventure sandals were in her bag; the cute-blingy-uncomfortable sandals were discarded in the corner of her room.
In all that I've taught my daughter in the past
fifteen years, my hope is that what she remembers when I'm someday gone is that I
taught her to say yes. Yes to life, to adventure, to opportunity.
To spring for the good shoes and the doors-off helicopter ride, to try the sushi (or
calamari or jerk chicken or that weird fruit they don't sell in Minnesota), to
dance on the beach when you get the chance, because we only live once and the
ride is sometimes way too short. To be curious and bold, to always jump at
the chance to see a new place or meet new people or try new food or ride on
your belly in the net at the front of the sailing cat, because that's where you are
closest to the dolphins...
I really hope she takes lots of pictures, and can't wait to see them. :)
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