She laughed at me.
“So, you think I should leave college because I lost my purse?”
Of course, I was being silly. I just panicked thinking about my baby, my 18 year old daughter, being stranded 350 miles away without money or her meal card. And this new boyfriend business…what’s he like anyway?
It seems that “growing up” is harder when you watch your kids do it then when you did it yourself.
Watching your poetry grow up is interesting, too. I absolutely cringe sometimes when I read some of the things I wrote twenty years ago – poems I thought were wonderful at the time. Yet, conversely ever so often something surprises me – I find a scribble in an old notebook that isn’t half bad, or a fragment from a long time ago that somehow becomes a new poem now that I have some new experiences under my belt to refocus that original thought.
Although intellectually I know that maturity is a process and not a milestone, sometimes it’s nice to remind my overly emotional self of that fact.
After hanging up, I checked my voicemail and the university campus police left a message for Yvette on the home phone. They’ve found her purse and she’s going to be just fine for the rest of her freshman year.
My poems are going to grow up to be ok, too.