My daughter just turned 18. ‘Tis true — while I might appear to retain the youthful glow of my teens or early twenties, I am rather solidly in middle age, with a technically adult offspring. I’ll give you a minute to recenter your worldview.
All right so you acclimated fairly quickly. Perhaps it is I who needs to take a moment. You see, I was just 18. Like, a minute ago. 18 stands out in my memory as if in Portrait Mode — clear and crisp enough that it makes the time around it just a little bit fuzzy and out of focus.
The day before my 18th birthday was a Saturday, and I had agreed to round up a few of my friends to assist the caterer at a wedding. The wedding was for a wonderful artist friend of mine whom I had gotten to know through committee work (yeah, I was THAT kid) and I was honored to help with her special day. Well, honored until we arrived and met the caterer. I’m not sure what she was expecting when she requested catering assistance, but I don’t think it was us. She took a shine to my boyfriend, Todd, and put him on bar duty. She was less fond of Jess, Kristen and me, so we were on general serving/clearing/washing up. We had a good time, however, in that way that happens when good friends are accidentally put in a strange situation — I remember lots of laughing over dishes, and sneaking of leftovers once dinner was over. She might have been a nasty piece of work, but that caterer made delicious food! By the time we were dismissed, it was nearly midnight. We all drove to a gas station so that I could go in and buy my first legal pack of cigarettes the moment the clock turned. (Yes, yes, I smoked and it was awful but it was also the 90s and grunge and Reality Bites made it look really cool.)
After that I had to hightail it home to bed. You see, my mom had decided to combine my 18th birthday with my high school graduation party, calling it “Liberation Day” in a stroke of genius. In addition to eating pasta salad and cake (two cakes, in honor of the dual celebration), towards the end of the party we were all also occasionally watching the TV on the porch to track OJ’s progress down the Santa Monica Freeway. It was an exciting day all the way around. I spent the rest of the evening as I spent most of my free time in those days: hanging out with my friends, who were the most important people in my life. Our time together was limited, as we all had plans to leave for college at the end of August. Every moment that summer seemed precious and almost frantic, trying to soak up moments and make lasting memories.
Of course, Fate intervened and gave me mononucleosis for a couple of weeks. Thanks, Fate! I remember finally being allowed out into the world on the 4th of July — my mom let Todd come with us to my grandparents’ cabin, with strict admonishments of “NO KISSING!” (I would later be reminded of this incident as my mom came up with the No Kissing In The Kitchen rule when I brought Dan home.) Miraculously, I was given the green light to attend Lollapalooza '94 a couple of weeks later. It was my first concert ever, I was with all of my best friends, and no parents were in sight. It felt like a glimpse into adulthood and independence, and remains one of my favorite days ever.
As my daughter turns this important, seminal age, I wonder what will stand out for her 30 years from now. Will she be checking her memories over text with her high school boyfriend? (Todd and I had a fun text chat as I was writing this piece!) Will she still cherish the tattoo she is getting before the family birthday dinner? Will she still be good friends with the girls who are giving her gifts at school today and inundating her social media with hilarious photos? Will she regret not going out on the town with her buddies after the tattoo instead of eating with her parents, grandparents, uncle, and little brother?
I know the answer to that last one already. As much as I loved and treasured my family at 18, it is nothing compared to the way Emily makes time for us. I suspect this priority is a result of years of being away from us at residential facilities, as well as the stretches of time she lived with my parents. She deeply understands the strength and support she has received and continues to receive, and does not seem to categorize the love of her family separately from the love of her friends. (The love of the boyfriend remains to be seen — new territory for us!)
The main thing I hope Em has learned by now is that she is powerful. There is power in struggle, in survival, in making mistakes and correcting them, learning from them. It took a long time for her to find her place in school, but thanks to caring teachers, some pretty awesome teenagers, and the gift that is Marching Band, Em is (mostly) happy and successful in her final year of public education. As I did before her, she has made a place for herself at church, working on service and self-discovery and joy. In the world, well, she’s trying to figure it out. Frankly, aren’t we all?
I just re-read that “we got done at midnight and went to do something else” section and now I need a nap.
Thanks for reading.
Love, Susie
Happiest of birthdays, Emily, from a stranger living in the west. It’s safe- I know your grandparents.
As I reel back the decades, the first thing that comes to mind is that I felt older at 18 than I do in my 60’s. Age has brought freedom.
What is really powerful in your writing is how easily it evokes memories and emotions in the reader.
I'm glad I am one of those readers.