Just about a year ago, my thirteen year old daughter came home from school to tell us that her Spanish teacher was hoping to put together an immersion 
trip to Costa Rica for the next year for 8th and 9th graders. I thought to myself, what a great experience. If we can afford it. If she really wants to go. If she’s selected as part of the group. There were a lot of “Ifs,” but I wasn’t really worried about it. Not in the spring.
Fast forward to October. The “informational meeting” was scheduled, so we attended. There were probably about 40 students there, with one or both parents. The goal of this meeting was to provide preliminary information about the trip; enough information for families to determine if they wanted to participate in this trip, and to determine if they would be able to afford it. The questions that cropped up at this meeting were very specific and somewhat tedious. At the time, ebola was on the rise here in the States, and I wasn’t too worried about a lot of the things people were asking. In hindsight, I should have been. Not because any of the issues have come to fruition, but because maybe if I worried a little more then, I would be a little less worried now. I don’t really think I would call it worry.
The months passed, and the trip got closer and closer. My kid is usually about as laid back as her dad, and it is certainly something I love about both of them. It helps keep me grounded about things I could otherwise be bent out of shape about. About two weeks before take off, I started thinking about how I didn’t want her to go. I had no rational reason for it. The trip was paid for, in full. I knew there was nothing that would compel me to keep her home. I just didn’t want her to go.
After outfitting her with new hiking sneakers, moisture-wicking t-shirts and tanks, and various other sundries for traveling, we were ready to take her to the airport. I knew I would miss her, and not just because I knew that she wouldn’t be here to play with her sister. But as I watched her go through security, I felt a lump rise in my throat. I felt tears start to fill my eyes, but forced them back. I knew my husband would think I was off my rocker. I had been hearing lots of “she’ll be fine” and “what are you worried about?”
I spent the next forty-eight hours thinking about the “why.” Why was I worried about her? But I realized it wasn’t…isn’t worry. My daughter is a good person. For the last several years, I had made a conscious decision to be like the best role model I know – my father. But while I struggle to be like him, she IS like him. She never thinks badly of anyone, she is always willing to help, she is empathetic, and although sometimes grudgingly, she will play on the Xbox with her sister, read her a book, or play some other game with her. No. What I was feeling was just “missing her.”
It is only 9 days. I knew she is in good hands. She is with her best friend. A best friend who had a phone set up for international use, and was willing to let her use it. But I think what became most evident, is that she would come back a different person. I wasn’t just missing her. At airport security, I had said goodbye to my little girl. Let’s be honest. When she comes back, she will be a little older and a little wiser. But not too much. No matter how much or how little she changes, that little girl who used to hold my hand crossing streets, the one who used to “lawyer up” on everything her father and I ever shared with her, the one who didn’t really know much outside the microcosm of our familial geography, she would not be coming back. That made me a little sad.
Her teachers have been posting updates on a closed Facebook group. These updates include pictures, some narrative, and some commentary. I wonder how many other parents like myself are watching the group constantly for any update or picture. What I find truly amazing, is that my daughter is out there, in a foreign country, doing things I couldn’t imagine. She has hiked and zip lined through the cloud forest, she has been immersed in a Spanish-speaking home, she has been managing her own money. She has been doing all of this without needing me. We are on day six and she has only called twice. It makes me happy that she is so independent. It feels bittersweet that she doesn’t need me anymore.
This trip really is the first step to her getting out, and getting away, and growing up.
That’s how it begins. The Fail. Hopefully, I can turn that around. Here goes.
challenge because, well, Aaron can be a pain in the ass sometimes pointing out that I said I’d do something and failed to follow through. Usually on things like this. “Did you write your Day 23 blog post yet?” So I am accepting this as an actual challenge because it’s not that I can’t find 21 things to be thankful for, nor is it that I can’t complete the activities in this challenge, it’s more of a “am I really that lazy that I just won’t do it?” I’m with Aaron the the “what I hope to achieve from it” part. I shouldn’t need 21 days to know how lucky I am with all of the positive things in my life. And even the not-so-positive, or downright negative, things in my life, aren’t really so bad when compared to the not-so-positive and downright negative things that others have to deal with in their lives.
Over that last several days a number of revelations have hit me. Ok, maybe they shouldn’t be called revelations. But I came to a few realizations. These are thoughts involving the following: Boy Meets World, Harry Potter, watching television with my kids, raising teens, and general anticipation.
I love food. I’m not shy about that. My belly will tell you the same story. My blood pressure will tell you the same story. And when I attended culinary school, I was thrilled. I got a really good job upon graduating (Salutatorian!) as a Sous Chef with a very small, but very successful catering company about 20 minutes from my house.